





































































































































































Class V&5 1 













/ 

The First White Woman 
In The Black, Hills 

As Told by Herself 
MRS. ANNIE D. TALLENT 


Collected and Edited by / 

0. W. COURSEY V 

Author of “Literature of South Dakota” and 
kindred publications. 


Published by the 

EDUCATOR SUPPLY COMPANY 
Mitchell, S. D. 

12715 








f 


Fls"7 

34 . 11 - 5 " 



Copyright 

1923 

By 0. W. Coursey 

(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED) 



JAN -8 7A v 


©C1A705730 




Oae -V 


FOREWORD 


From a large volume, entitled “The Black 
Hills, or Last Hunting Grounds of the 
Dakotas,” written by Mrs. Annie D. Tallent, 
the first white woman in the Black Hills, and 
published in 1899, has been culled and put 
together in a serial story the several frag¬ 
ments found therein. The story covers the 
eventful trip of herself, her husband, son, 
and twenty-five other adventurers, from 
Sioux City, Iowa, to the Black Hills of Da¬ 
kota Territory. 

The comedy, the disappointments, the 
tragedy, the pathos, and the romance of it 
all, have been so dramatically portrayed by 
the author herself that it has been deemed 
best to republish it as it originally appeared, 
except to omit certain historical data and 
miliatry reports and close it up so as to 
make the story continuous, and easy reading. 

It is republished because of its historical 


value, its genuine human interest, and to 
make popular reading. 

Mrs. Tallent was a cultured lady with a 
gifted pen. After the rush of gold-seekers 
into the Black Hills and the organization of 
that region into counties, she was appointed 
superintendent of schools in Pennington 
county and served with great credit for a 
number of years. She passed away quietly, 
several years ago, while on a visit to her 
sister at Elgin, Illinois; and she lies buried 
in that city. However, an effort is being 
made to bring her remains back to the Black 
Hills and re-bury .them beside the Ross 
Monument in Custer City. 

0. W. COURSEY. 

P. S.—In collecting illustrations and other 
material for this book, Mr. and Mrs. J. B. 
Gossage, of the Rapid City Daily Journal, 
have been of great help to me. I unhesita¬ 
tingly acknowledge my indebtedness to them. 

0. w. c. 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


Chap. Page 

I. The Custer Expedition . 9 

II. Preparations for the Journey. 14 

III. Crossing the Niobrara . 34 

IV. Crossing the Bad Lands . 56 

V. Crossing the Cheyenne River. 70 

VI. Building the Stockade .. 92 


VII. Riding out of the B. H. on a Mule 127 

VIII. Second Trip into the Black Hills 156 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
1. Mrs. Annie D. Tallent (Frontispiece) 8 


2. Gordon Stockade . 93 

3. Wild Bill .151 













MRS. ANNIE D. TALLENT 
First White Woman In The Black Hills 






















CHAPTER I. 

THE CUSTER BLACK HILLS 
EXPEDITION 

On July 2nd, 1874, an expedition under the 
command of Gen. George A. Custer, left Fort 
Abraham Lincoln near Bismarck, D. T., with 
ten companies of cavalry, two of infantry, a 
detachment of white and Indian scouts, inter¬ 
preters, miners, teamsters, etc., in all about 
1,000 men, under orders from the Govern¬ 
mental Department, to make a reconnois- 
sance of the Black Hills, and explorations of 
the country adjacent thereto, on the south¬ 
west, south, and southeast, and into the in¬ 
terior eastward, for the purpose presumably 
of learning something of the topography and 
geological formation of the Hills, and also 
of their general character and possible re¬ 
sources. The prime object of the expedition, 
however, would appear to be to ascertain 
their exact geographical position, relative to 


10 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

the military posts, Lincoln and Laramie, 
with a view to the establishment of other 
posts within or near the Black Hills, in case 
future complications with the Sioux rendered 
it necessary. 

The expedition entered the Hills on the 
west, at a point near Indyan-Kara, pene¬ 
trated southeastward as far as Harney's 
Peak, thence southward across the southern 
limits of the Hills to the south fork of the 
Cheyenne river. 

From this point, Charlie Reynolds, 
Custer's chief of scouts, was sent alone across 
the Indian infested country with dispatches 
to Fort Laramie, and it is alleged that the 
famous scout suffered exposure and priva¬ 
tions on the journey, from the effects of 
which he never fully recovered. 

Returning to Harney's Peak the expedi¬ 
tion spent a few days prospecting in the 
region of the Peak, then took up their march 
along the Box Elder, and finally after some 
difficulty, found its way out of the Hills at a 
point nearly opposite Bear Butte, which em¬ 
braced all the territory explored. 

ORGANIZATION OF FIRST EXPEDITION 

Upon the return of the Custer exploring 


THE CUSTER EXPEDITION 


11 


expedition in the summer of 1874, Charlie 
Collins, a newspaper man from Sioux City, 
Iowa, and Capt. T. H. Russell, a frontiers¬ 
man of considerable experience and a pio¬ 
neer in Colorado, deeming the time auspi¬ 
cious for such a movement, began to organize 
a Black Hills Expedition, to search for gold 
which the Custer Expedition had reported 
could be found there in great quantities. In 
the furtherance of the scheme they proceeded 
at once to Chicago, opened an office on Clark 
street, and began the work of drawing in re¬ 
cruits. Their efforts were being rapidly 
crystallized by the enrollment of numerous 
members, but the publicity given the enter¬ 
prise soon attracted the attention of Gen. 
Sheridan—then stationed at Chicago, who 
immediately issued orders to the commanders 
of the frontier posts, similar to the one is¬ 
sued by Gen. Hancock two years before, 
which again dealt a vital blow to the project. 

Apparently abandoning the enterprise, 
they gave up their office in Chicago and re¬ 
turned to Sioux City, where the following 
dispatch was sent to the Associated Press by 
Chas. S. Soule: “In view of the recent order 
of Gen. Sheridan, the Collins & Russell ex- 


12 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

pedition has been abandoned for the pre¬ 
sent.” This dispatch was merely a blind to 
put the military authorities off their guard, 
for right upon its heels, hundreds of letters 
marked “confidential” were mailed from the 
Times office, in reply to those asking for in¬ 
formation in reference to the expedition— 
stating that the dispatch promulgated was 
a blind; that the expedition was a foregone 
conclusion; and also, cautioning all who 
contemplated going to keep their own counsel 
and make known their intentions only to the 
Times Office. 

How many of those numerous correspond¬ 
ents replied at headquarters has not been 
ascertained, but it is a well known fact that 
despite the gigantic efforts of those indefat¬ 
igable workers, the expedition, in point of 
numbers, did not materialize to any great 
extent, as only twenty-six men, all told, had 
the hardiness to defy the authorities and 
undertake the perilous journey. These few 
got together, made their secret arrange¬ 
ments, purchased their supplies and equip¬ 
ments—paying for them in cold cash out of 
their individual pockets, as far as known— 
and launched secretly out for the Black Hills 


THE CUSTER EXPEDITION 


13 


without exciting the slightest suspicion on 
the part of the Government officials or creat¬ 
ing a single ripple on the surface of affairs 
in the pioneer outfitting city. 

The first expedition to the Black Hills has 
been called by some the Gordon expedition, 
in honor of John Gordon, the leader of the 
expedition on its journey into the Hills. 

This appellation, however, appears to be 
a misnomer, as it cannot be ascertained that 

t 

the guide of the expedition was in any direct 
way sponsor for its organization. 

It appears from reliable data obtained, 
that Collins and Russell, by virtue of their 
mutual efforts to effect an organization in 
conjunction with other prominent citizens of 
Sioux City, as before recorded, are rightfully 
entitled to that distinction. Therefore, by 
that token, the first expedition will be record¬ 
ed on the pages of this history as the Collins- 
Russell Expedition. 


CHAPTER II. 

PREPARATIONS FOR THE JOURNEY 


The following account of the prep¬ 
arations for and the journey of the first 
expedition over the plains from Sioux City, 
Iowa, to the Black Hills, Dakota Territory, 
with incidents of the trip, partakes some¬ 
what of the nature of an historical narration, 

4 

rather than a bare record of facts, which it 
is hoped may render the reading thereof less 
tiresome. 

Sioux City, the scene of thq first movement 
for the invasion of the Sioux domain, was, at 
the time of the opening of this story, an en¬ 
terprising and rapidly growing young city, 
not far back from the threshold of the then 
Western frontier—an admirable outfitting 
point for the unsettled regions to the West¬ 
ward, and favorably located geographically 
for carrying out the enterprise of its bold 
projectors, who were then perfecting the 


PREPARATIONS FOR JOURNEY 


15 


secret arrangements for their perilous 
journey. 

Almost any day during the latter part of 
September, 1874, there might have been seen 
small groups of determined looking men 
standing on the street corners, or in the hotel 
lobbies engaged in earnest discussion of some 
apparently absorbing topic—an occurrence 
common eonugh in any well regulated city; 
the only thing remarkable about these gath¬ 
erings being that their personnel was always 
the same, and whenever closely approached 
they would immediately disperse, a circum¬ 
stance which might have led a critical obser¬ 
ver to suspect them of some dark conspiracy; 
and if any curiously inclined person had felt 
disposed to follow their movements, when 
the shadows began to fall, they might per¬ 
haps have been found at some pre-appointed 
place in secret conference behind closed 
doors. Strangers they were, for the most 
part, who had gathered there; from widely 
separated localities—extending from the 
northern lakes to the southern gulf—drawn 
thither by the current rumors that an expe¬ 
dition was about to leave that convenient 
point for the Black Hills. 



16 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

Bright, crisp October comes, and if we 
board a ferry boat and cross over to the west 
bank of the treacherous Missouri river with 
its numerous snags and shifting sands, we 
will find out little party of Black Hills ad¬ 
venturers rendezvoused in a grove near by a 
small village named Covington, making 
active but quiet preparations for breaking 
camp, and, strangely enough, with them a 
small boy and a woman—the latter none 
other than the author of this story. Specula¬ 
tion was rife around the little community, 
and many questions were asked as to the 
destination of the outfit, but the men were 
absolutely non-committal, and it was then 
demonstrated that a woman, too, can some¬ 
times keep a secret. The necessity for secrecy 
becomes obvious when it is known that the 
movement was in direct violation of the ex¬ 
press orders of the United States Govern¬ 
ment, whose vigilance the expedition hoped 
to escape. 

Preparations for the journey were soon 
completed. Tents were hurriedly taken 
down, carefully folded, and with their poles 
strapped to the sides of the respective wagon 
boxes; bright, new cooking utensils, coffee 


PREPARATIONS FOR JOURNEY 


17 


pots and frying pans predominating, were 
fastened in artistic array along the outside 
wherever convenience and taste dictated. 
The inevitable water buckets were suspend¬ 
ed from the wagon reaches underneath, and 
last but by no means least the “grub boxes” 
were lifted to their places at the rear, where 
they were held in place by an arrangement 
similar to that employed for the baggage of 
passengers on the early stage coaches, when 
everything w T as in readiness for moving. 

In the afternoon of that memorable day, 
October 6th, 1874, the first expedition to the 
Black Hills cut loose its prairie craft from 
its moorings on the banks of the “Big 
Muddy,” and followed the “Star of Empire” 
westward right through the heart of the 
Sioux reserve. As the train filed out of camp 
on that October day—the new wagons, 
whose white covers bore a “strange device,” 
gleaming brightly in the afternoon sun, in 
the lead, the horsemen on the flanks, the 
pedestrians—among whom I tripped jaunt¬ 
ily along in the rear—it must have presented 
an imposing pageant to the very few ob¬ 
servers. 

The expedition, in its entirety, was com- 


18 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

posed of twenty-six men, one woman, and a 
boy, six canvas-covered wagons, each drawn 
by two pairs of fat, sleek, and a few of them 
somewhat frisky cattle,—by the way, they 
were neither so fat nor sleek, and not in the 
least frisky, at the end of the journey. There 
were also five saddle horses, and two beauti¬ 
ful greyhounds, whose frequent frantic 
chases after the poor timid antelope and rab¬ 
bit proved the source of much diversion to 
the expedition on its long, monotonous 
march across the bleak, treeless plains. Those 
long-limbed, pointed-nosed, fleet hounds— 
named, respectively, Dan and Fan—were 
noble specimens of their kind, of indisput¬ 
able lineage, and the pets of the entire party. 

When a few miles out from the starting 
point, the train halted for the night, when 
the questioin as to who should lead the expe¬ 
dition and guide the piratical craft safely to 
its destination, came up for consideration. 
After some lively canvassing as to the best 
man to intrust with so important an under¬ 
taking, the choice finally fell upon John 
Gordon, who, claiming to have traveled over 
the country as far as the foot-hills, several 
years before, was deemed the best fitted, by 


PREPARATIONS FOR JOURNEY 


19 


virtue of such knowledge of the route, to be 
our guide and leader. 

However, the expedition had not proceed¬ 
ed far on the journey beyond the line of 
public travel before it became apparent that 
our guide’s knowledge of the geography of 
the country was, to say the least, somewhat 
vague and uncertain. He had, doubtless, 
penetrated the country over government 
roads used for the transportation of supplies 
for the military posts to the west of the Black 
Hills, but not, it was thought, in the direction 
of the objective point of the expedition. Be 
that as it may the train was enabled by the 
aid of a small pocket compass, carried by Ly¬ 
man Lamb, who took daily bearings, to keep 
the general direction, and, although the train 
may have traversed a good deal of unneces¬ 
sary territory, our leader was indefatigable 
in his efforts to find the most practicable 
ground over which to travel, and finally land¬ 
ed the expedition safely—though somewhat 
the worse for wear—in the Black Hills. It 
was his daily custom to ride out every morn¬ 
ing in advance of the train to mark out the 
line of march for the day, by virtue of which 
he was entitled to unbounded credit. 


20 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

The expedition was splendidly equipped 
with munitions for its defense—each man 
having provided himself with the most ap¬ 
proved Winchester rifle, besides small arms, 
and sufficient ammunition to last by economy 
for a period of eight months. Fidelity to 
history compels me to record, however, that 
at divers times, some of our men indulged in 
the careless pastime of firing their precious 
cartridges at targets, on which occasions I 
had grave misgivings as to whether there 
would be any left to kill Indians with in case 
it became necessary. At times I was strong¬ 
ly tempted to expostulate with them on their 
thoughtless waste of ammunition, but I 
quickly controlled that inclination, conclud¬ 
ing that, perhaps, they knew their own busi¬ 
ness—at least they might think they did and 
take occasion to remind me of that fact. I 
did, however, venture to reproach them 
timidly one day when I thought them un¬ 
commonly reckless, and say solemnly: “Boys, 
don’t you think you will need all this ammu¬ 
nition that you are virtually throwing away 
when we get out among the Indians?” 

“Oh, shoot the Indians,” answered one of 
the boys, irreverently. Now deeming this a 



PREPARATIONS FOR JOURNEY 


21 


potent and convincing argument against the 
position I had assumed, and plainly signifi¬ 
cant, I meekly yielded the point and referred 
no more to the subject. 

Our wagons were packed to the guards 
with sundry provisions,—chiefly flour, bacon, 
beans, also sugar, coffee, a modicum of tea, 
a limited quantity of canned goods, butter, 
etc. It was estimated that our supply of the 
staple articles was sufficient to last, at least 
eight months, and, as the owners of each 
outfit purchased their own supplies, the 
luxuries were more or less abundant, accord¬ 
ing to the purses of the purchasers. 

Besides the supply of munitions and 
provisions, we were provided with all the 
necessary paraphenalia for camping, me¬ 
chanics’ tools, and, to complete the outfit, 
with picks, shovels, and gold pans. 

Let it be understood that the members of 
the expedition, while arranging for the 
journey, had been divided into what is called 
in army parlance, messes, a kind of copart¬ 
nership being entered into, the respective 
partners pooling their resources for the 
purchase of supplies and other property 
necessary for transportation, with the under-r 


22 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

standing, that, at dissolution, the assets be 
equally divided among the partners. 

There were twenty-eight in all. The 
grouping was as follows: 

No. 1 being composed of Capt. Tom Russel, 
Lyman Lamb, Eaf. Witcher, and Angus 
McDonald. 

No. 2, B. B. Logan, Dan McDonald, or Red 
Dan, Dan McDonald, or Black Dan ( the last 
two, bearing the same patronymic, were dis¬ 
tinguished by the color of the shirts they 
invariably wore), James Dempster, James 
Powers, J. J. Williams, and Thomas Quiner. 

No. 3, John Gordon, J. W. Brockett, New¬ 
ton Warren, H. Bishop, Chas. Long, Chas. 
Cordeiro and Moses Aarons. 

No. 4, R. R. Whitney, Harry Cooper, 
David Aken, and John Boyle. 

No. 5, Chas. Blackwell, Thos. McLaren, 
Henry Thomas, D. G. Tallent, Annie D. Tal¬ 
lent, and Robt. E. Tallent, then a boy nine 
years of age. 

Now that we had gotten safely away from 
Sioux City, the problem was how to escape 
suspicion. So on the canvas covers of the 
wagons was painted, in large, red letters, 
'‘O’Neill’s Colony;” intended as a misleading 


PREPARATIONS FOR JOURNEY 


23 


device, which, however, turned out to be a 
rather transparent one, as very few seemed 
to be deceived thereby. 

The people of the small towns through 
which we passed, along the route, regarded 
our train with a good deal of justifiable curi¬ 
osity, and our ears were frequently greeted 
with such questions as: “Hullo, where are 
you going?” “Where are you bound for, 
strangers ?” 

For answer their attention was usually 
called to the painted words on the canvas. 

“Oh, you can't fool me;” “What are you 
giving us?” and other localisms would be 
heard in reply. 

If they had only been permitted to have 
taken a look into the hidden recesses of our 
wagons, and discovered the aforesaid picks, 
shovels, and gold pans, their evident sus¬ 
picions would have been amply verified. No 
doubt vague rumors had reached those 
people in advance that an expedition was on 
its way to the Black Hills, in reference to 
which the subjoined extracts from Nebraska 
newspapers will show the trend of public 
opinion. 


24 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 
SIOUX CITY GOLD HUNTERS 
The West Point Republican says the fol¬ 
lowing extract from the Oakdale Journal 
refers to the Sioux City party under Capt. 
Russell, a well-known and reliable frontiers¬ 
man, and adds: “Although attempting a 
dangerous task, we apprehend that every 
man fully realizes the situation and is pre¬ 
pared to face death at any moment.” 

Here is what the Oakdale paper says:— 
“We were misinformed last week in regard 
to the destination of the supposed emigrant 
party which passed up the valley recently. 
Instead of being sturdy sons of toil destined 
in the future, to delve in the rich soil of Holt 
County, their destination was the Eldorado 
of the Northwest—the coveted gold fields of 
the Black Hills. They were resolute, deter¬ 
mined looking fellows, and one scarcely 
knows which to do first—admire their 
courage or condemn their judgment in thus 
venturing into an Indian country in the 
present temper of the red men. That they 
will have to fight their way inch by inch, 
across the Sioux territory, is a fact patent to 
every one conversant with the facts in the 
case. 

“We fear they have counted without their 


PREPARATIONS FOR JOURNEY 


25 


host, for they go into a country where dwell 
Indians enough to surround their little party 
a hundred deep. If they are captured they 
have no reason to expect mercy at the hands 
of the relentless, bloody Sioux.” 

Until we had left the last vestige of 
civilization behind us, each day of our jour¬ 
ney was very much like the preceding one, 
the same routine of camp duties to perform, 
such as pitching tents, gathering wood, build¬ 
ing fires, over which our evening meals were 
cooked at night, and taking down and folding 
tents, preparing our hasty breakfast just as 
the autumn days began to dawn. Each 
member of the party was required to serve 
his turn in the performance of all camp 
duties, which was really no hardship at that 
stage of the journey, as no night patrol to 
guard the camp was necessary. 

Our train traveled rather slowly, each day 
covering an average distance of from fifteen 
to twenty miles, not a bad record, when it is 
considered that cattle are not noted for their 
speed. 

Spots, well supplied with wood and water, 
and favorable for grazing, were selected for 
camping grounds, usually by some one sent 


26 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

out in advance for that purpose. At night, 
upon arriving at the ground selected, no time 
was lost, each man proceeding with alacrity 
in the performance of the duties falling to his 
share. Supper being disposed of and the 
remnants gathered up—not even one very 
small basketful—a couple of hours were then 
spent in telling stories and singing songs, 
and, by the way, there were some capital 
story-tellers in our party, and a few excep¬ 
tionally fine singers—notably, young Harry 
Cooper, whose rich tenor voice, as it floated 
out on the still night air, made one think of 
the New Jerusalem. 

The only drawback to the enjoyment was, 
that by the rule adopted I was required to 
furnish my share of the entertainment by 
singing a song or telling a story. Storytelling 
being more in my line, I would sometimes 
rehearse a tale calculated to “harrow up the 
soul, freeze the young blood,” etc.—usually 
one in which tomahawks and scalping-knives 
conspicuously figured. At the close of these 
outdoor musicals all would retire to their 
tents to sleep—perchance to dream of home 
or “the girls they left behind them.” 

I must confess here that I really enjoyed 


PREPARATIONS FOR JOURNEY 


27 


those social hours spent around the smould¬ 
ering camp-fire after our days' journeys 
were ended. Yes, it was truly glorious out 
under heaven’s dark canopy, with its myri¬ 
ads of bright stars twinkling lovingly down 
upon us like a very benediction—more 
especially so in that we realized that we were 
soon to become trespassers and outlaws with¬ 
out the pale of civilization. 

THE FIRST DEFECTION 
Soon after we left the village of Norfolk, 
Nebraska, behind, and were slowly nearing 
the last settlement, one of the members of 
our expedition became suddenly ill—so 
alarmingly sick that he felt it necessary at 
once to sever his connection with the enter¬ 
prise, of which he had been one of the chief 
promoters, and speedily return to Sioux 
City. Now, I was uncharitable enough to 
think, at the time, that the poor fellow just 
became “awfully” homesick, and my opinion 
has not materially changed since then. As 
it is not essential to this history, and for fear 
that I have done him a mental injustice, his 
name shall be withheld. Yet, after all, there 
perhaps was not one of us who did not ex¬ 
perience occasional twinges of homesickness 


28 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

as we approached the danger line, and 
visions of exposure, hardships, sickness, and 
even death rose before us, and the fierce 
warwhoop of the Sioux was already ringing 
in our ears. The outlook was by no means 
alluring, and one could scarcely be blamed 
for turning his back upon such a prospect. 
Besides, it is certainly no discredit to be 
homesick, but rather a proof that in all the 
wide world there is no place like home. 

This defection left the expedition with only 
twenty-five men to face the perils of the 
journey over the plains. However, we were 
in a measure compensated for our loss by a 
valuable addition to our number, soon after. 

A little later, one of our members, whom 
for prudential reasons we shall designate as 
Mr. A., incidentally came across a man who 
was the owner of a very diminutive donkey^ 
which he was anxious to sell—offering him 
at what he represented as a great bargain. 
Mr. A., being of a speculative turn of mind, 
and thinking that he knew a good thing when 
he saw it, after carefully diagnosing his 
small anatomy, purchased the little equine 
for a reasonable consideration. After a 
critical examination of the property I men- 


PREPARATIONS FOR JOURNEY 


29 


tally decided, without prejudice, that the 
expedition had lost but little by the exchange, 
and, in behalf of the donkey, I will say that 
only on two or three occasions had we reason 
to be sorry that he joined the expedition. 

However, when it was afterwards seen 
what prodigious burdens were loaded upon 
the docile little creature, and the way he was 
yanked about by the bits—emphasized by an 
occasional vigorous kick—I came to the con¬ 
clusion that the poor little beast had indeed 
fallen into rather hard lines. Ah, me, many 
were the wordy combats I had with the pur¬ 
chaser on account of what I deemed cruelty 
to animals—in which, much to my discom- 
forture, I always came out second best. I 
was on safe ground from a moral standpoint, 
but as he was the owner of the property he 
had a decided practical advantage. I was 
reminded one day during active hostilities, 
that the donkey was his and that he felt at 
liberty to kick him whenever he was in a 
kicking mood without asking leave of any 
one. 

It is highly amusing now to recall these 
exciting passages on the journey over the 
plains—and all on account of a donkey. 


30 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

It is quite remarkable now how a trip over 
the plains, with all its trying discomforts, 
brings to the surface the most unlovely 
elements of a man’s character, or a woman’s 
either for that matter. 

Now don’t let anyone be led into the belief 
that our comrade was a monster of cruelty— 
far from it. On the other hand, he was one 
of the kindest and best fellows in the outfit. 
He merely wanted to demonstrate to the 
sometimes headstrong little creature, that he 
was the master, and felt compelled to resort 
to heroic methods to convince him of the fact. 

We had now arrived at our ostensible 
destination, O’Neill settlement, on the west¬ 
ern verge, while really, our journey had but 
just begun. All the exposure, the hardships, 
and dangers had yet to be encountered. As 
there no longer seemed to be any great neces¬ 
sity for secrecy, our plans and objects were 
pretty freely discussed with the few settlers 
at this point, with the understanding, how¬ 
ever, that no information be given regarding 
our movements. 

The people looked upon our undertaking as 
foolhardy in the extreme, and used all their 
native eloquence in trying to persuade me, 


PREPARATIONS FOR JOURNEY 


31 


at least, to change my mind and return be¬ 
fore it was too late. But all their well-meant 
advice went for naught. 

Did I ever feel tempted to turn back? No, 
not at this stage of our journey, but later on, 
when trouble and misfortune seemed to 
gather darkly over us, when the pitiless 
storms of winter overtook us, when sickness 
and death entered our midst, and bore away 
one of our little band—then, ah, yes, I would 
have hailed with glad thankfulness any op¬ 
portunity to return to the comforts and 
safety of home, but no such opportunity was 
likely to occur. 

Turning back, after we had penetrated the 
hostile country, was altogether out of the 
question, even if such a course had been per¬ 
mitted, as the exposure and danger of a 
backward journey would have been as great, 
if not even greater, than to advance, so the 
only way was to keep together and press re¬ 
solutely on to the end. 

After a day spent in the O’Neill settlement 
for rest, our journey westward was resumed, 
and I now recall how utterly horrified those 
kind people looked as our train pulled out of 
camp. 


32 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

They assured us that we were rushing 
headlong right into the jaws of death, and to 
be candid I was much of the same opinion, 
yet we were not disposed to profit by their 
well-meant advice. 

When about two days out from the last 
settlement, we were met by a party of United 
States surveyors who had been sent out to 
establish the Nebraska State line, but who, 
on account of the Indians, were forced to re¬ 
turn without fully completing the work. They 
urged us not to proceed on our journey, say¬ 
ing that the Sioux had on their war paint and 
feathers, and were in no mood to permit 
white men to enter their domain. The expedi¬ 
tion was not to be intimidated, but despite all 
warnings to the contrary, and fully conscious 
of the perils ahead, proceeded along the val¬ 
ley of the Elkhorn river, about on the line 
now occupied by the N. W. & M. V. R. R. to a 
point about half way between O’Neill and 
Long Pine, not far from old Fort Niobrara, 
where our train diverged to the right, then 
traveling in a northwesterly direction to the 
Niobrara river, which was reached on the 
31st day of October. 

Three weeks had now elapsed since leaving 


PREPARATIONS FOR JOURNEY 


33 


camp on the bank of the Missouri river, yet 
only a very small part of our journey had 
been accomplished. 

The novelty, as well as the poetry of the 
trip, had by this time entirely worn off, and 
had instead become painfully realistic and 
prosaic. A few of our number would have 
willingly turned their backs on the promised 
land and returned had it been possible. Our 
stock had already begun to show the effects 
of their long march. 


CHAPTER III. 

CROSSING THE NIOBRARA 


At this point the expedition encountered 
the first real difficulty of the journey. It was 
found that ice had already formed on both 
sides of the river, while in the middle of the 
stream the current was very swift. The bed 
of the channel was covered with quicksand 
and was very treacherous, hence any attempt 
to ford the river at that time seemed like a 
hazardous undertaking. After a brief con¬ 
sultation on the difficulties of the situation, 
it was decided to halt, and remain for a few 
days to give the stock time to feed and re¬ 
cuperate, or, until, by the melting of the ice 
on the edge of the stream, the crossing might 
be safely effected. We were astir at dawn on 
the following morning, and found, much to 
our satisfaction, that the ice, the result of a 
higher temperature, was fast losing its hold 
upon the banks, and, piece by piece, floating 


CROSSING THE NIOBRARA 


35 


swiftly down with the current. 

During the halt several of our men started 
out to make a reconnoissance of the country 
ahead of us as far as the Fort Randall road, 
on the Keya Paha, to ascertain the most prac¬ 
tical route, and also to look for any signs of 
the proximity of Indians, returning late with 
the report that no Indians had been seen. 

At 10:00 o’clock on the morning of the 2d 
of November, preparations were completed 
for crossing the treacherous stream, and by 
noon we were all landed safely on the 
opposite side, albeit not without a hard strug¬ 
gle, as the quicksands on the bed made it 
extremely difficult for the cattle to keep their 
feet, the shifting sands causing some of them 
to fall several times during the crossing. 

Let it be understood that henceforth on 
our journey, all orders from headquarters 
were to be obeyed to the letter, “without 
asking the reason why or daring to make 
reply.” 

By the way, have my readers ever observed 
how prone some men are, when vested with 
a “little authority,” to become arbitrary and 
domineering? I have, and it is enough to 
make the angels weep. Of course, now that 


36 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

we were no longer under the protection of 
the law, the necessity of having a leader be¬ 
came apparent. It also became vitally 
important that certain regulations and rules 
of discipline be laid down and rigidly en¬ 
forced. All fully realized that if every man 
was permitted to be a law unto himself, it 
would result in confusion worse confounded. 

From this point our march was continued 
north and west, following for some distance 
the line of the Nebraska State survey, thence 
in the same direction to the Keya Paha river 
and the Fort Randall Government road. 

While in camp at this point a small de¬ 
tachment of United States cavalry, with an 
ambulance, was seen passing along the road 
to the westward only a short distance away, 
but notwithstanding the fact that our stock 
was scattered all around, feeding in plain 
view', we were not discovered, strangely 
enough. Their appearance naturally created 
no little excitement in our midst for a short 
time. I remember we were all in mortal fear 
lest the irrepressible donkey might betray us 
into the hands of the soldiers, it being his 
custom to indulge in the pastime of braying 
lustily from the time he was set free from 


CROSSING THE NIOBRARA v 37 

his burden on reaching camp, and all through 
the silent watches of the night, at short in¬ 
tervals until the dawn of morning, and 
although he was Lilliputian as to size, his 
braying was as loud, sonorous and prolonged, 
as the notes of a fog horn on the great lakes. 
However, as good luck would have it, he did 
not bray at that crisis, at least not until the 
soldiers were well out of hearing, and had 
disappeared from sight beyond an adjacent 
hill, when we again breathed freely. 

Forsooth, that little midget of a donkey 
was the source of a great deal of trouble and 
inexpressible anxiety to us all along the line 
through the hostile country on account of 
that unfortunate habit of his. While we all 
felt it necessary to walk around on tip-toe, 
so to speak, talk in subdued whispers and 
extinguish our fires before dark, he would 
bray away at his own sweet will without let 
or hindrance. Finally we were forced, in 
sheer self-defense, to resort to the expedient 
of putting a muzzle on him for several nights 
during the most critical part of our journey; 
of course, that had to be discontinued as he 
must eat if he was expected to carry burdens, 
besides, we felt it was not quite democratic 


38 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

to suppress freedom of speech. 

We now began to realize that we were 
treading on forbidden ground—that we were 
without the pale of the law and cut off from 
communication with the outside world—that 
henceforth danger would menace us from 
every quarter. 

At any time we were liable to be met dr 
overtaken by roving bands of Indians, who 
we felt sure would look with no favor upon 
our aggressive movements. On the other 
hand, we were still more afraid of the 
authorities we had secretly defied. 

We were in constant expectation of seeing 
a troop of cavalry come upon us from the 
rear, seize our train, burn our wagons and 
supplies, march us back in disgrace, and 
possibly place us in durance vile. 

To guard against such a contingency, a 
rather curious piece of strategy was resorted 
to. Every few miles our train would move 
round several times in ever-increasing 
circles, then off in another direction, zigzag¬ 
ging over the ground in what I thought a 
very peculiar manner. At first I was great¬ 
ly surprised and somewhat alarmed at these 
erratic movements, and really thought that 


CROSSING THE NIOBRARA 


39 


the boys had suddenly taken leave of their 
senses, but when it was explained to me that 
it was done to lead possible pursuers off our 
track I was greatly relieved and felt assured 
that the heads of our men were still level. In 
fact, I regarded the maneuvering as a won¬ 
derfully brilliant conception. 

It now became necessary that some pre¬ 
cautionary measures against probable Indian 
depredations should be adopted; therefore, a 
code of such rules and regulations as were 
needed for our own personal safety and the 
protection of our stock, was agreed upon, 
which were in substance as follows:— 

All camp duties must be completed, and 
fires extinguished before dusk. No loud talk 
or other unnecessary noise shall be allowed. 
All members of the expedition owning stock 
shall be required to perform guard duty at 
night—three to patrol the outskirts of the 
camp until midnight, then three others to 
take their places until morning, or daylight— 
no members shall be exempt from guard 
duty, except in cases of sickness. 

These requirements seemed comparatively 
light, at first, but, as the train advanced into 
the Indian country, and the storms came, and 


40 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

the weather grew colder and colder, the 
thermometer going sometimes to twenty-five 
or thirty degrees below zero, with no fires to 
warm by, they became a terrible hardship. 
Not a few murmurings were heard from the 
men who had this hard duty to perform, and 
as the days went by and no trouble came, a 
spirit of insubordination began to manifest 
itself—in truth, there was for a time some 
talk of a mutiny, which was, however, avert¬ 
ed by the better judgment of the majority. 

This standing night guard was especially 
a hardship on those who were compelled to 
leave their warm beds, and go out into the 
bitter cold at midnight to patrol their beats 
until the morning. Their boots became as 
hard and unmanageable as cast iron, with 
the extreme cold and frost, and it was with 
the greatest difficulty they succeeded in pull¬ 
ing them on. As they tugged, pulled, 
pounded, and struggled with their refractory 
footwear, I could hear from my comfortable 
quarters on the ground floor of my bedroom, 
frequent and rather forcible ejaculations, 
which sounded to me wonderfully like 
snatches of a prayer, or quotations from the 
“Litany,” as they floated in to me through 


CROSSING THE NIOBRARA 


41 


the folds of my tent. I supposed at the time, 
—not without good valid grounds, however— 
that they were not intended for either. I 
felt a great sympathy for the boys, and often 
advised them to go to bed with their boots 
on; but, although they received my sugges¬ 
tion with some degree of tolerance, my ad¬ 
vice was never followed. 

BILL OF FARE ON THE PLAINS 

Perhaps some of my readers may like to 

know how we fared during our long journey 

over the plains. Well, until the settlements 

were left behind, we lived on the fat of the 

land through which we passed, being able to 

« 

procure from the settlers along the route 
many articles which we were afterward com¬ 
pelled to do entirely without. , 

From that time to the end of our journey, 
or rather until we returned to civilization, 
the luxuries of milk, eggs, vegetables, etc., 
could not, of course, be had for love or 
money. 

Our daily “bill of fare,” which, in the 
absence of menu cards, was stereotyped on 
memory's tablets, consisted of the following 
articles, to-wit: For breakfast, hot biscuit, 
fried bacon, and black coffee; for dinner, cold 


42 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

biscuit, cold baked beans, and black coffee; 
for supper, black coffee, hot biscuit, and 
baked beans warmed over. Occasionally, in 
lieu of hot biscuits, and for the sake of varie¬ 
ty, we would have what is termed in camp 
parlance, flapjacks. The men did the cooking 
for the most part, I, the while, seated on a 
log or an inverted water bucket, watching 
the process through the smoke of the camp 
fire, which, or some unexplainable reason, 
never ceased for a moment to blow directly 
in my face, shift as I might from point to 
point of the compass. I now recall how 
greatly I was impressed with the dexterity 
and skill with which they flopped over the 
flapjacks in the frying-pan. By some trick 
of legerdemain, they would toss up the cake 

4 

in the air, a short distance, where it would 
turn a partial somersault, then unfailingly 
return to the pan the other side up. After 
studying the modus operandi for some time, 
one day I asked permission to try my skill, 
which was readily granted by the cook, who 
doubtless anticipated a failure. I tossed up 
the cake as I had seen them do, but much to 
my chagrin, the downcoming was wide of 
the mark. The cake started from the pan 


CROSSING THE NIOBRARA 


43 


all right, but instead of keeping the perpen¬ 
dicular, as by the laws of gravitation it 
should have done, it flew off, at a tangent, in 
a most tantalizing manner, and fell to the 
ground several feet away from the pan, much 
to the amusement of the boys. I came to the 
conclusion that tossing pancakes was not my 
forte. 

To relieve the monotony of our daily fare, 
our tables (?) were quite frequently pro¬ 
vided with game of various kinds, such as 
elk, deer, antelope, grouse, etc., large bands 
of antelope being seen almost daily along the 
route over the plains. Each outfit had their 
own hunters, who supplied, for the most 
part, their respective messes, with game, but 
Capt. Tom. Russell, who was the real 
“Nimrod” of the party, and a crack shot, 
bagged much more game than he needed, 
which surplus was distributed among the 
camps. Besides being a good hunter and 
skillful marksman, he proved himself a brave 
and chivalrous gentleman, during the long, 
trying journey, and somehow I always felt 
safer when he was near. 

There were several others in the party, 
too, who won the reputation of being skilled 


44 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

hunters, and. judging by the marvelous 
stories told of the great number of deer, elk, 
and other animals killed, which could not be 
brought into camp, they deserved to stand at 
the head of the profession. If there is any 
thing in the wide world, more than another, 
of which the average man feels proud, it is 
of the quantity of game he captures. 

Speaking of game brings to mind an ex¬ 
perience, the very remembrance of which 
always causes an uprising and revolution in 
the region of the principal organ of diges¬ 
tion. Some of the boys, in their very com¬ 
mendable desire to provide the camp with 
game, one day captured an immense elk, 
bringing in the choicest parts for distribu¬ 
tion among the different messes, and judging 
from the flavor and texture of the flesh of 
the animal it must have been a denizen of 
the Hills since the time of the great upheaval, 
and to make a bad matter worse, our chef 
for the day conceived the very reprehensible 
idea of cooking the meat by a process called 
“smothering.” 

Having a deep-seated, dyed-in-the-wool 
antipathy to smothered meats of all kinds, I 
employed all the force of my native eloquence 


CROSSING THE NIOBRARA 


45 


in trying to persuade him to adopt some more 
civilized method of cooking, but no, he was 
determined to smother it or not cook it at 
all, as by that process, he said, all the flavor 
of the meat would be retained, and he con¬ 
tinued : “If my way doesn’t suit you, cook it 
yourself.” Accordingly it was cooked his 
way and brought to the table—the word 
table is here used figuratively—and truth 
compels me to admit that it looked very 
tempting, so as I was abnormally hungry that 
night, I conveyed to my mouth, with a zeal 
and alacrity worthy of a better cause, an 
exceedingly generous morsel of the meat; 
but, oh, ye shades of my ancesters ! it was 
speedily ejected and then and there I pro¬ 
nounced it the most villainous morsel I had 
ever tasted in all my checkered career, and 
the cook was compelled to concur in that 
opinion. “Ugh!” although more than two 
decades have passed since then, I can taste it 
yet. The trouble, however, was more in the 
elk than in the cooking. 

All formality was thrown to the winds at 
meal time, each one helping himself or her¬ 
self with a liberality and abandon, that was 
truly astonishing and, I might add, alarming, 



46 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

in view of the fact that our larders were be¬ 
coming rapidly depleted, and that we were 
completely cut off from our base of supplies. 
Our coffee was drunk from tin cups and our 
bacon and beans were eaten from tin plates. 
Yes, we had knives and forks—not silver, nor 
even silverplated—yet we enjoyed our meals, 
for with appetites whetted with much ex¬ 
ercise and fresh air we were always raven¬ 
ously hungry, and could eat bacon and beans 
with the keenest relish. 

Strange as it now seems, while journeying 
over the plains I was for the most time 
blessed, or cursed, with a voracious, almost 
insatiable appetite—in fact, was always 
hungry during my waking hours, and what 
is most remarkable, none of the others were 
afflicted with the malady. 

At the outset of the journey I had pro¬ 
tested strongly against the kind of food on 
which we were being regaled, declaring that 
I never could be tempted to eat such abom¬ 
inable stuff, and prophesying my own demise 
from starvation within a month. Later 
however, as I trudged along on foot in the 
rear of the wagon, I would often, between 
meals, stealthily approach the wagon, sur- 



CROSSING THE NIOBRARA 


47 


reptitously raise the lid of the “grub” box and 
abstract thereform a great slice of cold bacon 
and a huge flapjack as large around as the 
periphery of a man’s hat—and a sombrero 
hat, at that—and devour them without ever 
flinching or exhibiting the slightest disgust. 

IN THE HEART OF THE INDIAN COUNTRY 

As we advanced further into the Indian 
domain, Capt. Russell, and our leader, Mr. 
Gordon, began to bring back to camp start¬ 
ling reports of fresh trails discovered, and 
moccasin tracks recently made, giving un¬ 
mistakable evidence that the dreaded savages 
were not far away. “Well, boys, we are 
almost sure to have a moccasin dance to¬ 
night, and we must be prepared to give the 
braves a fitting welcome,” warned the cap¬ 
tain. However, as we were not treated to an 
exhibition of their terpsichorean skill, nor 
molested at that time, the conclusion was 
reached, that these fresh trails were made 
by the Indians returning from their summer 
hunt, to winter quarters at their various 
agencies. All unconscious were they of the 
near proximity of the invaders, who, though 
brave, were not insensible to the perils which 
at the time surrounded them, and figuratively 


48 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

speaking, slept nightly, on their arms, to be 
ready for an attack at the first warning cry 
from the faithful sentinels on guard. We 
were in great danger of being discovered at 
any moment, as we were crossing their trails 
every day at this stage of our journey—and 
frequently their camp fires were found yet 
burning. 

SICKNESS IN CAMP 

Soon after leaving the settlements, a 
number of our little party, including myself, 
were stricken with a malady which finally 
culminated in the death of one of our num¬ 
ber, and in view of the exposure and hard¬ 
ships, and manner of living, it seemed a 
miracle that more did not succumb to their 
dreadful effects. Baked beans, hot biscuits, 
and alkali water, are not conductive to 
longevity. 

About this time two or three other mem¬ 
bers of our expedition began to show acute 
symptoms of home-sickness, viz.: Charles 
Blackwell, the sickest on the list; Eaf. 
Witcher, and, to confess the truth, I had had 
by this time several spasms of the disease 
myself, although I had resolutely refused to 
acknowledge it. Eaf, however, having a 


CROSSING THE NIOBRARA 


49 


good saddle horse, and therefore, in a sense, 
independent of the train, determined to re¬ 
turn to civilization at all hazards—which he 
felt he was at perfect liberty to do. 

His arrangements were speedily made. 
The contents of his grip, such as needles, 
thread, buttons, pins, etc., etc., were divided 
among his friends, the pins falling to my lot. 
He bade us all “God speed” on our dangerous 
journey that night, as he was to start on his 
homeward march before the dawn of the 
following day. But, alas, the “best laid plans 
o' mice and men gang aft aglee.” A council 
was called that night (I was never admitted 
to their conferences), at which a preamble 
and resolutions, something like the follow¬ 
ing were adopted: 

Whereas, we, in council assembled, have by 
sagacity and shrewd management, succeeded 
in eluding the vigilance of the powers that 
be, up to date; and whereas we believe that 
any direct or indirect communication with 
the outsile world would be dangerous to the 
interests of our expedition; therefore, be it 
resolved, That no member of the expedition 
shall be permitted to return to civilization 
ivhich we all voluntarily left; and, be it fur - 


50 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

the? resolved, That, any attempt to return 
shall he deemed treasonable to the expedi¬ 
tion, and that the offender shall he punished, 
by being disarmed and placed under guard, 
until the dangerous inclination subsides. 

This seemed an arbitrary proceeding in a 
democratic country like the United States, 
where every man is guaranteed the liberty 
of going or coming, according to the bent of 
his own inclinations, provided in so doing he 
does not interfere with the rights of others, 
but, it must not be forgotten that we were 
at the time a law unto ourselves. Eaf. made 
a vigorous protest against this high-handed 
exercise of power. “Perhaps some of you 
think I am afraid of the Indians; but I want 
you all to understand that I am no coward,” 
said he, “I am just heartily sick of this whole 
disagreeable business,” he added. That no 
braver fellow ever shouldered a Winchester 
is believed; that he possessed a wonderful 
amount of pluck, and was capable of great 
physical endurance is shown later. Impelled 
by a spirit of true democracy, I ventured a 
plea for individual personal liberty, and got 
snubbed for my pains. The powers were in¬ 
exorable. Eaf. became afterwards recon- 


CROSSING THE NIOBRARA 


51 


ciled to the situation,—saying to me one day 
a little later: “Well, this is a rather unpleas¬ 
ant experience, but, if you are able to endure 
the fatigue, the exposure, and all the other 
disagreeable things of a journey like this, 
surely I ought not to complain.” “I believe,” 
he continued, “if you were not here we should 
become totally demoralized.” Such an ex¬ 
pression was, of course, very comforting to 
me, as I had always felt myself a great in¬ 
cumbrance to the expedition. 

ALMOST A TRAGEDY WITHIN THE FOLD 

Shortly after crossing the South Fork of 
the White river, an occurance took place 
which came very near resulting in a terrible 
tragedy. According to the account given by 
one who was an eye-witness of the unfortu¬ 
nate affair, the trouble originated substan¬ 
tially as follows:— 

John Gordon, the leader of our party, who, 
by some curious and illogical process of 
reasoning had evolved the strange idea that 
he owned the expedition in fee simple and in 
consequence of this foolish delusion, exer¬ 
cised the little brief authority conferred 
upon him with all the arrogance of an 
autocrat, on the one side, and Charles Cor- 


52 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

deiro, in whose veins bounded the hot blood 
of a long line of Moorish ancestors, and who 
was stanch and true to the traditions of his 
race, on the other side, were the prime 
factors in the difficulty. 

The country through which we were 
traveling at the time being broken and very 
rough, Mr. Gordon in his capacity of leader 
ordered some work done along the line of 
march to render it more practicable for the 
passage of our train. 

Mr. Cordeiro being a little slow in obeying 
the mandates of the august leader, was duly 
reprimanded for his want of alacrity, and a 
few bitter invectives—more forcible than 
euphonious—were hurled at the delinquent. 
Mr. Cordeiro then, I believe, returned the 
compliment by inviting his opponent to take 
a journey to the tropical domain presided 
over by Pluto and his fair queen Proserpine. 

Mr. Gordon, not willing to be outdone in 
politeness, then applied to Mr. Cordeiro an 
epithet or cognomen not recognized in the 
nomenclature of our race, which naturally 
aroused the ire of the fiery Moor, who prided 
himself greatly on his ancestry, to such a 
white heat that he quickly raised his gun, 


CROSSING THE NIOBRARA 


53 


leveled it directly at the heart of his traducer, 
and fired, missing his mark. Just before 
firing, however, he heard a cry of: “Hold, 
don't shoot!” and turning his head suddenly 
to see whence the cry proceeded, he looked 
right into the muzzle of a gun in the hands 
of Mr. Bishop, one of Mr. Gordon's backers; 
in so doing his aim became unsteady, his gun 
deflected a little, hence his failure. In en¬ 
deavoring to extricate his revolver from his 
belt, after his gun had missed, he stumbled 
and fell, when Mr. Gordon rushed upon his 
fallen foe with drawn knife, and in his 
uncontrollable rage would probably have 
finished his victim then and there, had it 
not been for the prompt and brave inter¬ 
ference of Lyman Lamb, who opportunely 
rushed upon the scene, seized the hand of 
the excited leader and wrested the knife 
therefrom. By this time others of our party 
had gathered around the scene of conflict 
and insisted that the disgraceful exhibition 
be brought to a speedy termination. 

THE TWO VERSIONS 

Mr. Cordeiro claimed that Mr. Gordon was 
advancing toward him with his hand upon 
his revolver, at the same time saying: “Now 


54 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

Charley, let’s settle this matter right here.” 
Gordon, on the other hand, alleged that he 
did not have his hand on his revolver, but 
simply said: “Now, Charley, let’s have an 
understanding.” Which version is correct 
is not known. 

Mr. Gordon and his sympathizers were 
clamorous in their demands that summary 
punishment be meted out to the offender, but 
the level-headed and unprejudiced members, 
who were largely in the majority, said no; 
and they would have prevented any violence 
at the risk of their lives. Finally after a 
good deal of argument pro and con, the 
belligerents consented to accept the terms of 
peace, which were, that Mr. Cordeiro be dis¬ 
possessed of his arms for a period of ten 
days, when they were to be restored in case 
of peaceful behavior. A resolution was also 
passed, making it a high crime for any mem¬ 
ber of the party to threaten the life of any 
other member, under a heavy penalty, the 
nature or extent of which is not now re¬ 
membered, possibly, the death penalty. The 
opposing forces then stacked their arms, and 
sweet peace once more reigned in our midst. 

Which was considered the more guilty 


CROSSING THE NIOBRARA 


55 


party? Well, opinion among the members 
was pretty evenly divided. How many of us 
would be willing to tamely accept insult? 

Human nature manifests itself the same 
out in the solitude of the inhospitable prairie, 
as in more settled communities, and even the 
most amiable of our race anywhere, will 
scarcely submit to be trampled upon beyond 
a certain point. And that point is where 
forbearance ceases to be a virtue. 


CHAPTER IV. 

CROSSING THE BAD LANDS 

Long before reaching the White river, 
water became very scarce—long stretches of 
barren arid country were being traversed, 
without finding a drop, either for ourselves 
or stock—snow having to be melted at times 
for both purposes. Upon reaching the White 
river we were reduced to the necessity of 
loading one of our wagons with blocks of 
ice, cut from the almost solidly frozen 
stream, which was melted from time to 
time as it became necessary for our own use, 
or for watering our stock. 

The water thus secured was in a high 
degree offensive and nauseating, wholly unfit 
for man or beast, and not until nearly 
famished with thirst could I be tempted to 
drink a drop of the vile compound. How 
often in those trying days did our minds 
wander back to an old “mosscovered bucket” 


CROSSING THE BAD LANDS 


57 


as it rose from fondly remembered wells. 
Oh, the boon of clear, sparkling, cold water 
—more precious by far than the nectar of 
the gods. 

Thus laden with the unpalatable conglom¬ 
eration of chalk and congealed water—and I 
know not what other ingredients, which was 
to serve as drink for the two or three days 
following—we continued on our dreary 
march across the Mauvaises Terres, or Bad 
Lands, and language is inadequate to des¬ 
cribe the utter desolution of the country 
through which we passed. Long ranges of 
hills, cut up by a perfect labyrinth of ravines 
or gorges into all sorts of fantastic shapes, 
into various architectural forms, resembling 
fortresses, castles, and even small villages, 
confronted us on every hand. There was but 
little vegetation, with here and there a soli¬ 
tary pine tree to relieve the barrenness in 
this noted paradise of the scientist. The only 
sign of animal life to be seen while crossing 
this “Inferno,” was a single mountain sheep 
that stood on the extreme summit of one of 
the white chalk bluffs to our right, making a 
wonderfully attractive picture as with head 
erect he surveyed in apparent wonderment 


58 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

our slowly moving train, doubtless the first 
spectacle of the kind he had ever witnessed. 
Was he sole monarch of that entire God-for¬ 
saken domain? At any rate I felt convinced 
that no human being could long abide in 
such a place. 

Numerous evidences that we were travel¬ 
ing over a region that had at some time in 
the dead past been the bed of an ocean were 
discovered; pieces of fossil bones, and petri¬ 
fied shells of various kinds and large size, 
lay scattered over the surface, some of which 
we gathered. Of course, those things called 
up interesting reflections, but as we were not 
at the time in search of the fossilized re¬ 
mains of animals, large or small, vertebrate 
or invertebrate, that had existed in prehis¬ 
toric times, nor very scientifically inclined, 
we paid but little attention to those wonder¬ 
ful deposits. I would like to ask, who would 
be scientific, with feverished tongue and 
parched lips, and visions of the scalping 
knife flourishing over their heads? Besides 
we were nearly suffocated with the alkali 
dust that rose in clouds at every step and 

every revolution of the wheels of our train_ 

notwithstanding it was almost winter. The 


CROSSING THE BAD LANDS 


59 


whole aspect of this region of desolation 
suggested the thought, that a Heaven-direct¬ 
ed curse had, at some time, swept over the 
land, withering and consuming everything in 
its path, both animate and inanimate. It 
must be borne in mind that this region was 
seen at its worst, being the time when all 
vegetation was cut down by the frost. It is 
asserted that, in many portions of the Bad 
Lands, the grasses grow quite luxuriantly, 
and frequently springs of good water are 
found. We, however, failed to find any such 
luxury as a spring of water (or water of any 
kind that was fit for drink), and oh, the 
intolerable thirst! I would have been will¬ 
ing to have given my kingdom (had I one), 
not like Richard III for a horse, but for a 
single draught of the water that comes 
bubbling up from the depths of some cold 
mountain spring. 

A DEATH IN CAMP 

On the morning before our train reached 
the valley of the Bad river (but I am at a 
loss to understand why it is called a river, as 
there was not a drop of water to be found 
within a radius of several miles of the val¬ 
ley), the condition of our sick patient 


60 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

became so serious, that it was suggested and 
urged by some of the more humane of the 
party that the train halt for a few days, or 
until the suffering man got better. I think 
none of us realized that he would die. It was 
decided, however, that, as we were in the 
very heart of the hostile country, delay would 
be dangerous and unjustifiable, in that the 
lives of the whole party would be jeopardized 
—and, it was argued, that his bed could be 
so adjusted, that by traveling slowly he 
would suffer no great discomfort. Accord¬ 
ingly, one of the wagons was emptied of its 
contents and a comfortable bed prepared 
upon which the sick man was laid, nevermore 
to rise. 

All that day I walked along on foot by the 
side of the wagon, with the long agonizing 
wails of the dying man ringing in my ears, 
every cry piercing my heart like a two- 
edged sword. He begging to be shot, and 
thus relieved from his terrible suffering. 
This thought no doubt was suggested to his 
mind by the sight of a gun strapped to the 
canvas above his head, which was soon re¬ 
moved. About one hour before arriving at 
our camping ground his cries ceased, and we 


CROSSING THE BAD LANDS 


61 


all fervently hoped he had fallen asleep. 
Upon reaching camp and looking into the 
wagon it was seen that he, indeed, was peace¬ 
fully sleeping the sleep that knows no 
wakening. “Ah, pity ’tis, ’tis true,” that the 
poor pilgrim had fought the supreme battle 
alone, with no tender hand to wipe away 
death’s gathering teardrops, or smooth his 
dying pillow—but—yes, did not the pitying 
angels hover above and around him, even 
’neath that coarse canvas? 

Gloom, like a dark pall, hung over our 
little camp on the dreary, lonely prairie that 
night. Death was in our midst and every 
gust of wind that blew adown the valley 
seemed laden with the wails and groans of 
our departed companion. 

I must record here that everything kind 
hands could do, with the medicines available, 
was done for his relief and comfort. 

Now, notwithstanding the extreme dan¬ 
gers of the situation, it became imperative 
that we camp for a day in order that the last 
rites be performed for our dead comrade, J. 
J. Williams, a skilled artisan, and a genius 
in many ways, taking charge of the prepara¬ 
tions for the burial. 


62 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

A coffin of small hewn timbers, strongly 
pinned together with wooden pins, was con¬ 
structed, in which the body was decently 
laid, then a cover, also of hewn timbers, was 
pinned down in like manner. Surely no 
prowling wolves or coyotes could ever reach 
him in his impregnable bed! A grave was 
then dug on a little grassy eminence over¬ 
looking the lonely valley, then sadly and 
tenderly his comrades lowered him into his 
final resting-place, there to await the call of 
the last trumpet on resurrection morn. 

A cross, also of small, smooth, hewn 
timber was erected over his grave. On the 
pedestal of the cross was written the follow¬ 
ing inscription: “Died on the 27th day of 
November, 1874, on his way to the Black 
Hills, Moses Aarons, aged 32 years. ‘May he 
rest in peace/ ” 

No audible prayer was uttered; no funeral 
dirge was sung; each one stood reverently 
with bowed, uncovered head, around the 
grave until the first earth fell upon his rude 
coffin, then turned sadly away. I would give 
much to know whether that solitary grave 
has remained undisturbed, all the long years 
since then. 


CROSSING THE BAD LANDS 


63 


There is a tradition handed down to us, 
that Indians will never disturb a grave sur¬ 
mounted by a cross, as they have the greatest 
veneration for this symbol of Christ's death, 
—hence the erection of the cross. 

At 3 o’clock p. m., November 28th, the 
simple ceremonies being over, our train 
moved on, leaving our late companion in that 
desolate spot, far from home and friends, 
where the summer’s breeze and winter’s 
blast would wail a perpetual requiem athwart 
his lone grave. 

It all seemed to me peculiarly sad at the 
time, and I could but look back with wet eyes 
at the slowly receding cross, bathed in the 
pale light of a late November sun, until it 
was finally hidden from my view. Ah, how 
deeply I felt impressed with the inscrutable 
mysteries of Providence! But it was not for 
us to understand why a man, more or less 
accustomed to the hardships of life, should 
be cut down in all the glory and strength of 
his young manhood, while a delicate woman, 
wholly unused to exposure, or any of the 
privations and hardships incident to such a 
journey, should be given strength to endure 
and overcome all the difficulties of that ter- 


64 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 
rible march. 

Truly “God’s ways are mysterious and 
past finding out.” 

AN AMUSING INCIDENT 

It has been said that there is but a step 
from the sublime to the ridiculous; so like¬ 
wise there is but a step from the pathetic 
to the ludicrous; for, right upon the heels of 
the sad and impressive scene we had just 
witnessed, followed an incident which caused 
a good deal of amusement in our midst, and 
illustrated how very near laughter and tears 
are together. Mr. Blackwell had the good 
fortune of capturing a beautiful silver fox, 
the skin of which is accounted of great value, 
and after divesting the beauty of its sheeny 
outer garment he left the carcass to be food 
for the hungry coyotes that were very numer¬ 
ous on the plains. However, the ravenous 
beasts came very near being cheated out of 
the feast intended for them, and by one of the 
hearty pioneers, too, who innocently suppos¬ 
ing the flesh good for food lingered behind 
the train for the purpose of securing the 
coveted meat. 

Shortly after reaching camp that night the 
donkey was seen approaching in the reflected 


CROSSING THE BAD LANDS 


65 


rays of the sinking sun with the carcass of 
the fox standing bolt upright, stiff and 
stark on his back (frozen solid), and a more 
ludicrous spectacle could hardly be imagined. 
When the attention of the boys was called 
to the approaching donkey and his nude 
rider, with the owner marching gaily along 
beside them, the comical looking proposition 
created no end of merriment in the camp. It 
was perfectly irresistible. 

When told that foxes were considered 
wholly unfit for human food, the poor fellow 
very reluctantly gave it back to the wolves. 
He did not see why foxes were not quite as 
wholesome and palatable as the opossum, the 
woodchuck, and the squirrel; neither did I. 

In marching across the Bad Lands we 
found a great scarcity of both fuel and water, 
and had not the precaution been taken of 
loading wood onto the wagons before leaving 
the White river, the enevitable black coffee 
and hot bread would have been for awhile 
unknown quantities. 

The difficulties of the march increased as 
the days went by. The cattle became com¬ 
pletely worn out from their long journey 
over the rough, untraveled ground, without 


66 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

being allowed sufficient time to feed. Their 
hoofs became worn to the quick, and it looked 
as if some of them would have to be aban¬ 
doned on the plains to die. To partially re¬ 
lieve them, they were provided with leather 
shoes, divided to fit the hoofs, which for a 
time remedied the difficulty, this, however, 
affording only temporary relief to the poor, 
emaciated createures that were becoming 
day by day less able to carry their rapidly 
diminishing loads. 

Slowly and toilfully we crept along over 
the hard frozen ground, with nothing to 
relieve the tiresome monotony of the march, 
save the amusement afforded us by the daily 
chases of the greyhounds after some kind of 
game. If the game happened to be a band of 
antelope, they, with a snort of defiance, 
would scamper away over the prairie with 
almost lightning speed, those not especially 
singled out by the hounds, turning now and 
then, with heads erect, and nostrils distend¬ 
ed, to view the situation, and make sure that 
there was really sufficient cause for so much 
alarm on their part; and it was truly a 
beautiful sight. The hounds, selecting their 
victims from the band, would (Dan in the 


CROSSING THE BAD LANDS 


61 


lead) scud away after them, in a perfect 
frenzy of excitement, usually running them 
to some point beyond our reach of vision, so 
that we rarely knew the real denouement of 
the exciting chase. If, on the other hand, 
the game chanced to be a rabbit, the chase 
proved to be a very disappointing and un¬ 
satisfactory affair to both Dan and Fan, on 
account of its shortness, as they were soon 
run to cover. The rabbit, bounding away 
in great leaps, covering a distance of twelve 
or fifteen feet at a jump, would suddenly 
disappear in its burrow, not far away, the 
dogs then returning, with a woefully crest¬ 
fallen expression on their intelligent faces, 
and their tails dangling down, in a truly 
despondent manner. Nevertheless, we all 
felt exceedingly grateful to them for even 
this temporary diversion along the dreary 
road. 

Let none of my readers be deluded into the 
belief that there was anything, either very 
romantic or pleasant connected with this part 
of our journey, unless shivering over the 
dying embers of a camp fire, silently watch¬ 
ing the daylight gradually fade into darkness 
until all the surrounding desolation was 


68 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

overspread with the sable wings of night, 
and then creeping, benumbed with cold, into 
bed, be romantic, or unless getting up at the 
early dawn, partaking of a hastily prepared 
breakfast, none too tempting to the appetite, 
and trudging off through the snow, day after 
day, be considered a pleasure. If any one 
labors under such a foolish delusion, let 
such individual take a journey under like 
conditions and circumstances, and be dis¬ 
enchanted. 

FIRST SIGHT OF THE BLACK HILLS 

We had our first glimpse of the Black Hills 
about ten o’clock a. rn., December 31st. The 
Black Hills! The Black Hills! passed from 
lip to lip. A glad cry of relief went forth at 
the sight, and every heart sang paeans of joy 
and thankfulness, that our destination was 
so nearly reached. We could see plainly, 
in the distance, to the left of us, the long line 
of dark shadowy hills, dimly outlined against 
the blue sky, and to the right, Bear Butte, 
standing alone like a huge sentinel guarding 
the entrance to that unknown land. 

Of course, the Hills were yet a long dis¬ 
tance away, but our goal was always after 
in sight to buoy up our spirits. 


CROSSING THE BAD LANDS 


69 


Several days before sighting the Hills 
some of our poor cattle had become so re¬ 
duced and footsore, that it seemed impossible 
for them to proceed any further with their 
loads. It appeared as if some would be 
compelled to abandon their wagons and stock 
of supplies, and make their way into the Hills 
as best they could with such provisions as 
they could carry, or adopt the alternative 
of going into winter quarters on the bleak 
prairie. This terrible alternative, however, 
was happily averted. The owners of the bet¬ 
ter conditioned stock acted the part of the 
good Samaritan, by relieving the disabled 
cattle of a part of their loads, thus increasing 
that of their own already overburdened 
stock. Two or three hundred pounds, more 
or less, was loaded on to the submissive 
donkey, and thus lightened we were all able 
to proceed together on our journey greatly 
to our relief. 


CHAPTER V. 

CROSSING THE CHEYENNE RIVER 

On the morning of December 3rd, we found 
our train on the crest of a high precipitious 
bluff, near the point where the waters of 
Elk creek swell the current of the Cheyenne 
river, and in something of a dilemma. 

To descend the almost perpendicular 
front of the bluff with the wagons looked im¬ 
possible. Descend we must, however, or 
take the alternative of turning back, and 
traveling many miles in search of a more 
practicable point. Finally, they hit upon the 
expedient of letting the wagons down the 
steep incline by means of ropes, with which, 
fortunately, the party was well supplied. The 
cattle were unhitched, and driven across, and 
down the vertical bluff first, then the 
wagons, one by one, were lowered by means 
of ropes to the valley below. 


CROSSING THE CHEYENNE 


71 


INDIANS DISCOVERED 

At this time occurred the most exciting 
episode of the entire journey. As the last 
wagon was being lowered, some one dis¬ 
covered moving objects a mile or so down the 
valley. Field glasses being brought to bear 
revealed that the animated objects were 
nothing more nor less than about two score 
of Indian ponies, feeding along the valley of 
the river,—a convincing evidence that their 
owners were near at hand. “Ah, then there 
was hurrying to and fro,” but “no gathering 
tears, nor tremblings of distress.” Oh, no, 
just a firm compression of the lips, a flashing 
of the eye, then a hurried examination of 
Winchesters, a buckling on of cartridge 
belts, and the boys were ready for action at 
the first sign of hostility on the part of the 
Indians. A fight seemed inevitable, and 
there were no cowards in our little band of 
men. 

I was speedily and rather unceremoniuosly 
ushered into a covered wagon out of sight 
—under protest, however, for I am nothing 
if not curious, but there was some consola¬ 
tion in the thought that from my point of 
vantage, everything that transpired could be 


72 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

plainly seen. The reason assigned for such 
summary procedure was that the presence 
of a woman might lead the Indians to suspect 
that the party contemplated a longer stay 
within their domain than would be agreeable 
to them. 

Very soon two mounted braves came dash¬ 
ing up the valley toward us, being very 
careful, however, not to come within gunshot 
of our train; then after a hasty survey of 
the situation, with a shrill warwhoop, they 
rode back at full speed to report the number 
of pale faces and their apparent strength. 

Orders were then given to cross the river 
and halt for dinner, although an hour earlier 
than the usual time for our noonday meal. 
Soon after going into camp, five mounted 
Indians rode into our midst, and remained 
until the train was ready to pull out. The 
Indians improved the time by trying to 
barter away their ponies for ammunition 
and guns; and no doubt they would have 
given several of their ponies for one of the 
Winchesters, with which our party was 
equipped, and which they examined with a 
great deal of interest. Of course we had 
neither guns nor ammunition to barter away 


CROSSING THE CHEYENNE 


73 


for ponies nor money. 

These Indians seemed quite friendly, and 
to do them justice, they were quite respect¬ 
able looking Indians, as Indians go, but like 
all their race, the most inveterate of beggars. 
They were fitted out with a goodly supply of 
flour, bacon, sugar, and tobacco—yes, we had 
tobacco, and pipes too. 

From my safe retreat ’neath the canvas, 
through a convenient aperture, I had a 
“bird’s-eye” view of the whole procedure and 
to tell the truth, I felt much uneasiness on 
seeing the liberality with which the boys 
were dealing out their precious stock of pro¬ 
visions to the graceless savages. In truth, I 
could scarcely refrain from uttering a warn¬ 
ing cry from my hiding-place, from which I 
hoped soon to emerge, but I remembered the 
ammunition episode in the early part of the 
journey, and heroically closed my lips. 

When the train received its marching 
orders the Indians, laden with the generous 
contributions, returned to their camp, a short 
distance below. These Indians, who proved 
to be a band of Cheyennes returning from a 
summer hunt to winter quarters, are reputed 
to be less warlike than many of the other 


74 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

tribes,—at all events, they gave us no 
farther trouble. Perhaps they stood in whole¬ 
some terror of the formidable equipments 
of our expedition and thought discretion the 
better part of valor. Had we encountered 
an equal number of the fierce and blood¬ 
thirsty Sioux, doubtless I should have a far 
different story to relate, or, perchance, there 
might not have been one left to tell the tale. 
I am of the opinion, however, that our plucky 
little band would have proved more than a 
match for the sneaking savages, as they were 
on the constant lookout, and always prepared 
for a surprise. 

After this encounter, and, in view of a 
possible attempt to run off the stock of the 
train, a double guard was placed to patrol 
the outskirts of the camp, to watch the cattle, 
for several nights thereafter, when, as we 
were not molested, the force was reduced to 
its original number. 

Two days after leaving the Cheyenne 
river, one of our cattle gave up the struggle, 
unable to proceed a step farther. The worn- 
out beast was unhitched from the wagon, the 
yoke removed from his galled shoulders, and 
he was turned out on the prairie to die, and 


CROSSING THE CHEYENNE 


75 


the last we saw of the poor bovine he was 
lying exhausted on the ground, but, true to 
his instincts, chewing his “cud” vigorously. 

As we approached the Hills, they began to 
assume a more definite shape. Instead of the 
great banks of vapory clouds as at first 
sight, there rose up, bold, rugged, abrupt 
mounains, all along their eastern limits, 
and the striking resemblance of Bear Butte 
to a huge bear, as outlined from our point of 
view, became easily discernible, growing 
more and more clearly outlined, as the train 
drew near. 

Two days before reaching the point of 
entrance, it appeared that in a few hours, at 
most, we could reach the Hills, and I was 
greatly surprised when told that they were 
yet forty miles away. The next morning, 
they were so very near that I felt an impulse 
to reach out my hand and pluck a twig from 
the evergreens on the hillsides,—so deceptive 
is distance, in the rare atmosphere of the 
Black Hills—especially to the unaccustomed 
eye. The delusion is not so great when one 
becomes accustomed to the climate, the philo¬ 
sophy of which I do not understand. 

At length on the 9th day of December our 


76 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

feet first pressed Black Hills’ soil, at a point 
about four miles below Sturgis, where we 
took dinner in the midst of a howling snow¬ 
storm. Here we found a well-defined wagon 
road made by the heavy supply train, 
accompanying the Custer expedition on its 
exit from the Hills in the preceding August. 
On reaching the foothills at this point, to 
guard against the ambushed foe it was 
deemed advisable to press into service a day 
guard, an advance and rear guard, and also 
two flank guards, whose duty it was to patrol 
the ridges along each side of the moving 
train to apprise the party of any threatened 
danger, and it was no easy duty. We ex¬ 
pected to find Indians galore in the Hills 
skulking behind the bushes and trees, and I 
now recall how I magnified every bush and 
shrub along the top of the ridges, into the 
tufted heads of so many redskins, peering 
over the crests of the hills at our train. How¬ 
ever, as no apparent danger seemed to 
threaten us, and no evidence of the presence 
of Indians had been found, after two days 
the guard was released from duty. 

Our first camp within the limits of the 
Hills was made in a canyon about two miles 


CROSSING THE CHEYENNE 


77 


below where Piedmont now is, on the night 
of December 9th, wherefrom the train 
marched in a southerly direction up over the 
hill and down into the Box Elder valley at 
a point not far from the mouth of Jim creek, 
then following up the Box Elder to the north 
fork of that stream and over the divide to 
Little Rapid creek, thence almost due south 
across Castle, Slate, and Spring creeks to our 
destination, two and one-half miles below 
Custer. 

When we first struck the Custer wagon 
trail, we found along the way, horseshoes, 
kernels of corn, and other evidences that 
civilized people had but recently traveled 
over the ground, which so reminded me of 
home, or, I might as well confess the truth, 
I became for the first time so utterly home¬ 
sick that—what did I do? Well, I sought 
the most convenient log, sat down upon it, 
and proceeded to shed a torrent of unavailing 
tears—and they were no crocodile tears, 
either. Would not some of my readers have 
been equally weak, I wonder? 

Through the mystic influence of associa¬ 
tions, very small things are, under certain 
circumstances, wonderfully potent in their 


78 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

appeal to the human heart. So in this case 
even a few grains of corn, scattered along 
the wild mountain trail, had the power to 
burst open the flood-gates and let the current 
of tears rush forth . 

On the first night spent within the limits 
of the Black Hills, we all had a pretty bad 
Indian scare, which caused something of a 
panic in the camp. Long after the camp 
fires were extinguished and the guards posted 
on the outskirts, the inmates of the camp 
were suddenly aroused by the low warning 
cry of: “Boys, for God’s sake, get up quick 
and get your guns, the camp is surrounded 
by Indians! We’re in for it this time, sure.” 
The boys sprang up, pulled on their cast iron 
boots, grabbed their guns and rushed forth 
to meet the foe. I sat bolt upright in my 
lowly bed, and listened—my heart beating 
a rapid tatoo, meanwhile—but could hear 
nothing but the dismal howling of the hun¬ 
gry timber wolves, which, it finally turned 
out, two of the guards had magnified into 
the blood-curdling warwhoop of the Sioux. 
A few of the boys had never heard an Indian 
warwhoop; hence the mistake. 

As our route was taken through some of 


CROSSING THE CHEYENNE 


79 


the wildest portions of the Hills, the journey 
through them proved a delightful revelation 
—one continuous poem, replete with all that 
is grand, sublime and beautiful. We found 
the Black Hills a profound solitude, with 
peace, like a guardian angel, reigning over 
the whole wide expanse, and without a 
single vestige of civilization; and as we 
marched along under the shadows of the 
lofty hills, I remember how greatly I was 
impressed with their vastness, and our own 
comparative insignificance and littleness. Up 
and down over the rough divides our jaded 
cattle laboriously made their way. Down 
steep and dangerous declivities, into dark 
canyons, where the sun never shone save at 
midday, and where it seemed so awfully 
hushed, as to be almost oppressive, we pur¬ 
sued our course. 

All along the route could be seen in places, 
on one hand, huge rocks piled high one upon 
the other, with almost mechanical regularity 
and precision, as if placed there by the hand 
of a master workman—a great wall of 
natural masonry; on the other the ever¬ 
lasting hills, covered with majestic pines, 
that looked like stately sentinels guarding 


80 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

the valleys below, towering far, far up above 
our heads; then anon low lying ranges of 
hills, clothed with dense forests of pine, and 
away in the hazy distance, other ranges 
rising up like great banks of clouds against 
the horizon. For myself, I confess that I 
had then no knowledge of the geography of 
the country we were traversing, but as I 
remember the localities, it was on the 
divide between Rapid and Spring creeks that 
we first saw Harney’s Peak, towering up in 
rocky grandeur, to the left of our line of 
march. 

A noticeable feature of the country 
through which we passed, as we neared our 
objective point, was the many beautiful 
glades, with their scattered bunches of 
pines and hemlocks—a vivid picture of 
which I have in my mind as they appeared to 
me then, with the bright winter’s sun shin¬ 
ing down through their branches, flecking 
the brown earth beneath, with patches of 
burnished gold—spots where one might ex¬ 
pect to see fairies dancing and skipping 
about on moonlight nights. A fit abode it 
seemed for our first parents,—in the days of 
their primeval innocency, — ere women 


CROSSING THE CHEYENNE 


81 


tempted (?) man to sin. 

In passing through some of the deepest, 
darkest canyons of the Hills, my imagination 
would run riot at times, and I could not help 
glancing furtively from side to side of the 
ravines to see whether there were any 
gnomes or hobgoblins peering out at us 
from between the crevices of the great 
rocks, where these irrational creatures are 
supposed to hold high carnival, and I confess 
that I always felt a trifle relieved when we 
emerged from those uncanny places. 

Altogether the journey through the Hills 
are a rare treat to one who had never be¬ 
fore been among the mountains. The entire 
landscape was one well calculated to impress 
the beholder with awe, and incline him, :f 
aught earthly could, to fall prostrate at the 
footstool of the Great Unseen behind all its 
wonderful majesty and beauty; and to make 
the scene still more impressive, an awful 
silence—a silence which only primeval 
forests know—hung over all. No sound was 
to be heard amid the solitude, save our own 
voices, which sounded strange and unnat¬ 
ural; the rumbling of the wagons over the 
rough trail, and the cracking of the drivers* 


82 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

whips, which reverberated from hill to hill 
and through the corridors of the woods in the 
most romantic manner. By the way, the 
drivers seemed to delight in cracking their 
whips and hallooing to the cattle, simply, I 
suspected, to hear the delightfully romantic 
effect. 

Lyman Lamb was one of the Jehus of the 
party, and he showed himself quite an ex¬ 
pert in that capacity as he has since in keep¬ 
ing county records. He did not, however, 
like the scriptural Jehu, ride in a chariot, 
drawn by fiery steeds, but on the contrary 
drove his own cattle, walking by their side 
from the start to the finish, and the wonder¬ 
ful skill and dexterity with which he wielded 
his prodigious whip, and cracked its long 
lash, would have made a professional 
“whacker” green with envy, and excited my 
most profound and lasting admiration. 

In all the vicissitudes of that long, trying 
journey Mr. Lamb proved himself one of 
Nature's noblemen—fearless and intrepid, 
and one upon whom it is always safe to rely. 

Our march through the Hills was neces¬ 
sarily slow, owing to the weak condition of 
the cattle, it taking just two weeks from the 


CROSSING THE CHEYENNE 


83 


time we entered the Hills to reach French 
creek. At last, after a hard journey full of 
bitter experiences, we arrived at our objec¬ 
tive point, about two and one-half miles 
below Custer, on December 23rd, 1874, hav¬ 
ing been seventy-eight days en route. 

As soon as the train came to a halt, some 
of the boys rushed to the wagons for shovels 
and gold pans, and hastened to the place 
where the miners of Custer's expedition 
claimed to have found the gold. Soon they 
were seen returning to camp waving their 
hats aloft in a very excited manner, myself 
joining them, by frantically waving my much 
traveled and weather-beaten hood in genuine 
sympathy. Eureka! They had found par¬ 
ticles of gold in the bottom of each gold pan, 
and my readers may be assured that there 
was great rejoicing in our camp on French 
creek that winter's night. 

Our poor emaciated cattle were unyoked 
for the last time, and turned out to subsist 
as best they could for the winter. Our tents 
were pitched, suppers prepared and eaten 
with the usual informality, and we then sat 
around our blazing campfires in the heart of 
the wilderness, not singing songs and re- 


84 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

hearsing tales, as of yore, when we yet 
reposed under the folds of the American flag, 
but talking of and thinking out the difficult 
problem that confronted us; some, perchance, 
indulging in waking dreams of the piles of 
gold that were almost within their grasp. 

Ah, if we could have lifted the curtain, and 
taken a glance into the future, at the long 
years of weary waiting, our bright hopes 
would have given place to dark despair. 
In mercy, “Heaven from all creatures hides 
the Book of Fate.” I often wonder if any 
of the little band of pioneers, who sat dream¬ 
ing around that camp fire on French creek: 
that night, have ever yet realized their 
hopes, or are they still chasing the illusive 
phantom that somehow always manages to 
elude their grasp. I am quite clear on one 
point, and that is, that the author of this 
story has been reaching out for more than 
two decades after that delusive “will-o’-the- 
wisp,” and is still employed in the same 
fruitless occupation. 

Now that our journey was ended for a few 
months at least, our camp arrangements 
must be of a more permanent character, so 
we pitched our tents on the hill slope north 


CROSSING THE CHEYENNE 


85 


of French creek near a copious spring and 
proceeded to make our surroundings as com¬ 
fortable as was possible under the circum- 

« 

stances and limitations. 

A wearied and worn, tattered and torn 
combination we were, to be sure, on reaching 
French creek on that 23rd day of December, 
1874. How could it be otherwise? I was 
painfully aware that I, at least, was in a very 
sorry plight. My shoes, especially, were in a 
sadly demoralized condition—a thin apology 
for shoes, although the second pair since 
leaving the haunts of man. What did I do 
for shoes ? Why, I made a pair of moccasins 
of a deer skin that had been tanned and pre¬ 
pared by one of the boys for the purpose, and 
very comfortable moccasins they were, too. 
Did I walk much of the way on the journey? 
Oh, yes, all the way after leaving the settle¬ 
ments, except during a week of sickness, and 
a few short rides on the back of the little 
burro. 

Now some may regard such a feat as 
something quite wonderful, but there was 
really nothing remarkable about it, when it 
is remembered that the distance traveled was 
only from ten to fifteen miles a day, and the 


86 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

gait exceedingly slow—a mere pleasure walk. 
Anyhow, who would ride in a heavily loaded 
wagon drawn by worn-out, footsore cattle? 
Not I, indeed. Of course the ground traversed 
was very rough, and sometimes covered 
with snow, hence the deplorable state of my 
footwear. 

Had it not been for certain precautions 
taken by us pedestrians on our way into the 
Hills, some would have been barefoot in all 
likelihood, long before reaching the end of 
the journey. 

When there was snow on the ground we 
“packed” our feet to protect them against 
the loose snow, as well as the cold. Now I 
venture to assert that some of my readers do 
not even know what packing the feet means. 
I didn't know before I started to the Black 
Hills, and took a regular course in the art. 
Well, it means simply to bind a gunnysack— 
now don’t pretend not to know what a gunny¬ 
sack is—snugly around the feet and ankles, 
then bind it on with a stout cord to keep it in 
place. There is nothing equal to it as a pro¬ 
tection to the feet, and I regard the man or 
woman who originated the idea, as a genius 
and a benefactor of the pioneers. Try it 


» 


CROSSING THE CHEYENNE 87 

when you cross the plains on foot in the 
winter. 

The next day, December 24th, was wash 
day, and day of general repairs in camp, and 
a formidable undertaking it was, as may be 
easily imagined. We had tubs, washboards, 
and plenty of soap in the outfit, but we were 
obliged to take turns in washing as there 
were not quite enough tubs to go round. 
When the garments were washed, they were 
spread on the bushes to dry, and when dry 
were ready to wear, as they were never 
ironed, everything being done after the most 
primitive fashion. It is needless to say that 
the boys did their own washing and mend¬ 
ing. Lest some might think that we had 
ignored the laws of hygiene while en route, 
I want to state that frequent short halts had 
been made for washing and bathing pur¬ 
poses, notwithstanding the danger, for al¬ 
though branded as outlaws, we were not bar¬ 
barians. 

CHRISTMASTIDE IN BLACK HILLS IN 1874 

Yuletide had come, and it was hardly to be 
expected that the children’s patron saint 
would think of running the gauntlet of the 
Indians to visit our obscure camp among the 


88 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

wilds, so, inspired by the spirit of “Peace on 
earth and good will towards men,” and feel¬ 
ing that something should be done to keep 
the festive season green in our memories, I 
bethought me of a Christmas tree, without 
the genial saint. There were plenty of ever¬ 
greens that could easily vie with the time- 
honored holly and mistletoe on every side, 
and beautiful Christmas trees near at hand 
in the valleys, but what was the good of a 
tree with nothing to put on it—no books, no 
toys, no confections, nothing but picks, 
shovels, gold pans, and an ox chain for orna¬ 
mentation, and these would hardly be 
appropriate. The fondly remembered Christ¬ 
mas stocking was thought of, but here the 
same difficulty occurred. The whole category 
of supplies from baked beans down failed to 
furnish anything suitable for a Christmas 
gift, and so my great mental struggle to make 
the “eve” seem like Christmas went for 
naught. 

Christmas morn dawned upon us, and at 
no time, since our journey began did we rea¬ 
lize, both by distance and environments, we 
were far from home and all that it implies. 
Completely cut off from the whole Christian 


CROSSING THE CHEYENNE 


89 


world with its precious privileges; no Merry 
Christmas greeting from the loved ones back 
towards the rising sun; no sweet chimes of 
Christmas bells fell upon our ears; no grand 
organ notes, pealed forth the glad Hosannas, 
reached us among the mountain fastnesses; 
no church privileges—but, wait—was not 
the whole expanse a church, grander by far 
than any cathedral ever built by human 
hands? Was there not a powerful sermon 
in the beautiful quartz that lay scattered 
about on the hillsides, and a great moral les¬ 
son in every tree and bush that grew upon 
their lofty crests? Were not the mournful 
cadences of the wind, as it whispered through 
the pine branches above our tents, more 
touching than the sweetest song; and the 
awful silence that brooded over each hill, 
valley, and beautiful glade, more potent to 
lift the thoughts Heavenward, than the 
grandest choral music ever chanted by 
human voices ? These were the thoughts that 
rose up in my mind, as I sat musing at the 
opening of my tent, on that Christmas day, 
nearly a quarter of a century ago. 

What of our material comfort? Did we 
have a Christmas dinner? Alas, no. Roast 


90 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

turkey with cranberry sauce, plum pud¬ 
dings and mince pies were not much in 
evidence on our tables that day—nothing but 
our coarse every-day fare, and no doubt the 
thoughts of every one of our little band went 
back over the dreary intervening waste, to 
the good cheer of the dear old homes. 

The day after Christmas the storm clouds 
gathered, and soon snow began to fall,— 
coming down in great feathery flakes until 
the whole landscape was covered to a depth 
of two or more feet, on a dead level, and our 
tents were almost literally snowed under. 
Then the wind rose and blew a terrific gale 
—driving the loose snow before it, and piling 
it in great banks in the valley below, and the 
cold became intense. 

Being on the southern slope of the hill we 
did not feel the cold much, but the cattle 
suffered terribly, both from cold and hunger, 
especially the latter, as they could not reach 
the cured grasses,—so abundant in the 
snow-covered valley. At night great fires 
were built of pitch pine logs, piled high, 
which threw out light and heat in every 
direction. The poor cattle, attracted by the 
grateful warmth, would come into camp and 


CROSSING THE CHEYENNE 


91 


stand in a long line on each side of the fire, 
until somewhat thawed out, when they would 
wander back, one by one, into the darkness 
and fierce storm. 

Was it reason or instinct that guided those 
dumb brutes in, systematically arranging 
themselves in rows, near the fire, and then 
leaving their comfortable positions without 
any compulsion, just as if they felt them¬ 
selves intruders. 

In less than a week the great storm was 
over and the weather became as warm and 
balmy as a June day. 


CHAPTER VI. 

BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


(As one drives nowadays down the beautiful state high¬ 
way along French creek from Custer to the State Lodge, he 
sees beside the road at one place a sign on which is painted 
these words—“SITE OF THE GORDON STOCKADE”— 
O. W. C.) 

The time had now come when we must 
look the situation in the face. We were in 
the Black Hills, but how long we would be 
permitted to remain was a problem which 
the future alone could solve. But whether 
our stay was to be long or short, the exigen¬ 
cies of the situation demanded that safer and 
more comfortable quarters be at once pro¬ 
vided. The storms of midwinter were upon 
us, and danger, for aught we knew, might be 
even then lurking behind each bush and tree. 
Therefore, to guard against exposure and 
possible danger, the plan for building a place 
of defense was matured and speedily ex¬ 
ecuted. Skillful and willing hands were soon 
at work, and despite the fact that the work 



Photo-Gravure, Original Engineer’s Drawing, Gordon Stockade. 


































































































































































































94 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

began in the midst of the worst snowstorm 
of the winter, in about two weeks the for¬ 
midable structure, commonly known as the 
Gordon stockade, was completed and ready 
for occupancy. 

For the benefit of those who have never 
seen that early stronghold, I will give a des¬ 
cription of the structure, as I remember it 
after the lapse of nearl ya quarter of a 
century, and, in view of the memorable 
winter spent within its gloomy walls, I am 
not likely to forget a single feature, from 
the top to the base, or from the great wooden 
gate to the opposite wall. 

The walls of the stockade were built of 
heavy pine timber, thirteen feet in length, 
set close together in an upright position, 
three feet in the ground, forming an inclos¬ 
ure eighty feet square. Along the line of 
contact, between the timbers, other smaller 
timber were pinned with heavy wooden pins. 
At each of the four corners of this inclosure 
were bastions, standing out six feet from the 
main structure,—each provided with four 
embrasures, and along the two sides and one 
end, at intervals of about eight feet, were 
portholes. A large double gate twelve feet 


BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


95 


wide, built of hewn timber strongly riveted 
together with wooden pins, completed the 
structure, this gate being the only entrance 
to that impregnable fortress of the Hills. It 
has been pronounced by those who are good 
judges of defensive works the strongest of 
the kind ever built in the West. Capt. Mix, 
in his description of our stronghold to Gen. 
Bradley, on his return with the prisoners 
to Fort Laramie said: “Why, if they had re¬ 
sisted I should have been obliged to return 
to the fort for artillery to dislodge them.” 
At any rate, once within the strong walls we 
felt that we could defy the Indians as long as 
our ammunition lasted or until we were 
starved out. But would our ammunition hold 
out until relief came? That was the prob¬ 
lem. 

Within the walls of the stockade were 
built seven log cabins, three on each side and 
one opposite the gate, with a space of about 
six feet intervening between them and the 
walls, designed for the sharpshooters at the 
portholes, and the bastions, leaving a large 
area in the center of the inclosure. In one of 
these log cabins the author spent the never 
to be forgotten winter of 1874-5. It is much 


96 FIRST WHITE WOMAN— BLACK HILLS 

to be regretted that ruthless hands were per¬ 
mitted to destroy that great early landmark 
of the Black Hills, which might have been 
preserved as a memorial to the pluck and 
perseverance of the men who built it. It is 
said that not a single stick is left to mark 
the spot where it stood. 

LIFE IN THE STOCKADE 

The seven cabins within the walls of the 
stockade, in which we were doomed to drag 
out the weary monotonous days of winter, 
were more or less pretentious, according to 
the taste and skill of the builders. 

The first cabin on the right was conspicu¬ 
ous because of the peculiar construction of 
the roof, which consisted of small hewn 
timbers with a groove chiseled out in the 
center of each to carry off the water. As a 
substitute for shingles it was an ingenious 
contrivance. This same cabin had a floor of 
hewn logs, a door of hand-sawed boards, a 
chimney, a fire-place, and an opening for a 
window, but no sash. This model cabin was 
built by what was known on our journey as 
the “Logan” outfit—each wagon with all its 
accessories and appurtenances, being called, 
while en route, an “outfit.” Well, this Logan 


BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


97 


aggregation consisted of a half-dozen fine 
muscular fellows from the pineries of Wis¬ 
consin, who were not afraid of work, and riot 
very much afraid of Indians. Some of them, 
as their names indicated, were brave Scots¬ 
men, whose ancestors, at least, came from the 
hills o’ bonnie Scotland. 

The second on the right belonged to the 
“Whitney” proposition, the personnel of 
which was R. Whitney, D. Aken, John Boyle, 
and Harney Cooper, the young artist who 
charmed us all by his glorious voice while 
journeying over the plains. 

The third on the same side, which com¬ 
pared favorably with the first, though of 
somewhat different style of architecture, was 
constructed by Lyman Lamb, T. H. Russell, 
and Angus McDonald, who, poor fellow, was 
crushed to death by the falling of a tree, a 
few years ago, near Deadwood. This cabin 
was planned by Lyman Lamb, who also drew 
the plan for the great stockade. 

The cabin opposite the gate, a well-built 
and substantial structure, was occupied by 
John Gordon, the leader of the expedition, 
H. Bishop, the owner of the aforementioned 
greyhounds, Chas. Long, and N. Warren, 


98 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

dubbed “Uncle Nuteand the best-natured 
man in the expedition. “Uncle Nute,” by the 
way, was a master of the art of song. His 
voice could be heard blithely and joyously 
from early morn to dewy eve without cessa¬ 
tion, in fact he sang always except when 
asleep, and his constant refrain was some¬ 
thing about being “Down in the coal mines 
underneath the ground, and digging dusty 
diamonds all the season round.” 

The next cabin to the right in the circuit, 
and the most unpretentious of the seven, was 
our house, a low square structure without 
gables, consisting of one room which served 
the purpose of kitchen, dining room, bed 
room, and parlor. Like the others it was 
built of logs, not hewn but round as nature 
formed them, with not a single mark of ax 
or adz to mar their symmetry. The roof 
which slanted at an angle of about forty-two 
and a half degrees was constructed of poles 
covered with alternate layers of hemlock 
boughs and mother earth. I think the poles 
were of the quaking asp variety, at least I 
thought so, when the wintry winds swept 
through the great open gate. It had a 
chimney, too, a sort of a nondescript affair, 


BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


99 


and a wide fireplace with a large flat stone 
in front of it, and several stones of lesser 
magnitude, arrayed with an eye to artistic 
effect, in a circle on the outside, otherwise 
our cabin was guiltless of floor or carpet. 
There was an opening fronting the area for a 
door, over which hung a large coffee sack 
for a portiere, and a small square opening 
just opposite for a window, over which was 
tacked a piece of cloth bearing in large red 
letters the following legend, “XXX Extra 
Superfine,” which completed the main part 
of the edifice. 

Moreover, our house had a wing—a right 
wing, whose sole occupant was Chas. Cor- 
deiro, the Moor. Now, although this annex 
was, architecturally speaking, a part and 
parcel of the main building, there was no 
communication between the two parts, save 
a small square opening cut through the log 
partition, for the mutual accommodation of 
the dwellers on each side, and through which 
reciprocal courtesies were daily interchanged. 
For instance, among our scanty supply 
of cooking utensils was a small iron kettle— 
perhaps the only one in the expedition, which 
our near neighbor took occasion to borrow, 


€ 


100 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

whenever he had a pot of beans, or a leg of 
venison to cook,—on the other hand, he had 
a sharp two-edged axe, which he always kept 
whetted to the keenness of a razor, to which 
we were ever made welcome, on demand. As 
these articles were being passed back and 
forth through this convenient aperture, our 
neighbor, when looking through from his 
little dingy room with his supernaturally 
intense black eyes, made a very suggestive 
picture, to me suggestive of a prisoner peer¬ 
ing through the barred windows of a prison 
cell. 

The next cabin on the left of the entrance 
was occupied by Eaf Witcher and Henry 
Thomas, and the last in the circuit belonged 
to Chas. Blackwell and Thos. McLaren, our 
former copartners,—the firm having dis¬ 
solved by mutual consent, just before moving 
into the stockade. The inside furnishings 
of these cabins were of the crudest kind, all 
being cut or hewn from the pine trees hard 
by. Not a very attractive home, my readers 
may think. No, but the best that could be 
provided with the facilities at hand. 

Now, all this may be very dry and unin¬ 
teresting to the reader, and may not mean 



BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


101 


much, as viewed through the mist of over 
twenty intervening years, but it meant a 
great deal to those early pioneers—it meant 
untold hardships and deprivation of the com¬ 
forts of life, and in giving these small details, 
it has been the desire of the author to 
present a true picture of the comfortless 
homes that afforded them shelter and place 
of refuge at that trying time, as by these 
glimpses into the past, something is shown 
of how, by brave endurance and self-sacrifice, 
the way was made clear for the civilization 
which followed. 

A CONFLAGRATION IN CAMP 

That life in camp on French creek, pending 
the building of the stockade, was not wholly 
barren of exciting incidents, will be shown 
by the following somewhat dramatic events, 
in which myself and the donkey enacted the 
leading parts. 

Among our camping equipments was a 
gorgeous red, white and blue tent,—a thing 
of beauty and of pride, patterned after the 
stripes of our national flag, representing the 
thirteen original colonies now embraced in 
our Union of States, and in which the vari¬ 
ous members of our firm were mutually 


102 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 
interested. 

Well, one day when alone in camp, while 
indulging in my usual post-prandial nap, 
with my head uneasily reclining on a huge 
roll of bedding within the tent, I felt a sort 
of dreamy sensation of abnormal warmth 
creeping over me, which grew hot, and still 
hotter, until the superlative of heat was 
reached, when I suddenly awoke to find my¬ 
self almost completley enveloped in flame 
and smoke. 

At a glance I saw that the entire front of 
the tent was in a blaze, which was spreading 
above and around me with lightning rapidity. 
Springing up, I hastily tore the opposite 
end of the tent from its fastenings and 
scrambled out, dragging, by the strength of 
sheer desperation, the roll of bedding after 
me. 

Just at this critical moment, when I had 
given up the tent as doomed to utter des- 
ruction, one of the men, opportunely, came 
into camp for some mechanical tool, and, 
seeing my dilemma, he quickly severed the 
guy ropes, thus letting the burning tent to 
the ground, when, by some vigorous tramp¬ 
ing, the fire was soon smothered, but leaving 


BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


103 


only a few smoke-blackened fragments of 
the once beautiful canvas, that had protect¬ 
ed us from the wind and rain, snow and 
sleet, for so many dreary nights in crossing 
the plains. Ah! I could have wept. 

When the stockade builders returned from 
their work that night, I lost no time in re¬ 
vealing to those affected, the story of our 
irreparable loss—laying much stress upon 
the lamentable fact that we were then left 
without even a shelter over our devoted 
heads, and told them how it happened. No, 
I didn’t tell them that I was asleep when the 
cause of the disaster originated. I explained 
to them how a small stream of flame had 
stolen out from the camp fire near by, and 
crept slowly and steadily tentward, until it 
communicated wtih the canvas, and— 

“Well, no, not until it was too late,” I 
the fire was cr-e-e-ping up to the tent?” in¬ 
terrupted one of the boys, sarcastically. 

“Where was I? Why, I was in the tent, 
of course.” I answered, guiltily. 

“And you didn’t see the fire a-coming, eh ?” 
he returned. 

“Well, no, not until it was too late,” I saw 
meekly replied. 


104 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

“That's rather strange," he said, with just 
a hint of suspicion in his tone. 

He then plainly intimated that, in his 
opinion, the catastrophe was altogether the 
result of criminal carelessness on my part. I 
silently stood accused, with not a word to 
offer in my own defense. 

“Well, now, Tom, what’s the use of crying 
over spilled milk?" chimed in another of the 
boys. 

Now that the ordeal was over, impelled 
by a spirit of conciliation, I brought forth 
the charred remnants and laid them, as a 
peace offering, at their feet, with the sugges¬ 
tion that they apportion them, per capita, 
among them. 

“Great Scott," said Tom, “what can we do 
with these rags? You might as well throw 
them in the fire and let them burn like the 
balance." 

“Oh no, I won’t do that," I said. “You 
may need them to patch your pants with 
when the flour sacks are all gone." 

“That’s what," said another. 

So the gaudy pieces were put away and 
portions of them were finally used for the 
above mentioned purpose. 


BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


105 


THE DONKEY GETS A GOOD SQUARE MEAL 

While the stockade was in process of con¬ 
struction, I was, of necessity, left the sole 
guardian of the camp properties, supplies, 
etc., and therefore felt morally responsible 
for their safety. 

I was not alone, however; my only com¬ 
panion was the donkey, who spent his time 
for the most part within the precincts of the 
camp, prowling around and gazing with 
pleading eyes and ears erect in at the open¬ 
ing of each tent—probably to spy out the lay 
of the land. That donkey of ours, since his 
advent into the Black Hills, had subsisted 
chiefly on mountain scenery and the choice 
tid-bits of bacon rinds and gunny sacks that 
had been thrown out by the campers. 

Well, one day he took it into his long, wise 
head to treat himself for once to a good 
equare meal, so, protruding his head and 
shoulders into one of the tents he seized 
about a half side of bacon, which was care¬ 
fully, wrapped in a piece of canvas, then 
backing out with his ill-gotten booty, pro¬ 
ceeded to masticate it at his leisure. I think 
he knew beforehand just where to find it. 

Observing the whole daring procedure 


106 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

from a distance, and keenly realizing that I 
would be called upon to give an account of 
my stewardship, I immediately rushed to the 
rescue of the pillaged property. With that 
end in view, I approached the head of the 
little gourmand and was about to grasp the 
canvas that hung suspended from his mouth 
when he turned his heels upon me like a 
flash, and kicked as only that branch of the 
equine race can kick. But, skillfully dodg¬ 
ing his vicious heels, I escaped the contact. 
Several like attempts to rescue the property 
were made with similar results. 

Having an unbounded regard for the heels 
of the mule race, and deeming “prudence 
the better part of valor,” I then stood at a 
respectful distance and watched the bacon, 
canvas and all, disappearing down the bur¬ 
ro’s throat. 

It was with feelings of no little trepida¬ 
tion that I approached the owners of the 
pillaged tent that night and informed them 
of what had happened during their absence, 
and of my heroic effort to save their property. 
After telling them how the donkey had 
eaten the entire proposition, one of them 
queried: “Did he fry the bacon, or eat it 


BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


107 


raw?” “No,” I replied. “He didn't wait to 
cook it; he seemed to prefer it raw.” To my 
great relief the boys regarded the whole 
affair as exceedingly comical, but for the life 
of me I couldn’t see where the fun came in. 

The 16th of January found us all settled 
in our respective quarters within the walls 
of the stockade. Every night at sundown 
the huge gate was closed and securely barred, 
after which there was no egress. Yet, even 
within those formidable walls, with the gate 
strongly barred, I did not feel that we were 
any too safe. Having no sentinels posted 
out, how easy for Indians to stealthily ap¬ 
proach the stockade in the night or early 
morning, while its unguarded inmates were 
profoundly sleeping, scale its walls and mas¬ 
sacre every one. Visions of such a possibility 
often came up before me, while I lay awake 
at night, listening to the midnight howlings 
of the wolves and the occasional scream of 
the wild cat, which sounded so like the human 
voice, that I sometimes felt absolutely sure 
that the savages must be right upon us. I 
could almost see the sheen of their brandish¬ 
ing knives in the dark. However, such 
visions were soon banished—giving way to 


108 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

a more healthy condition of mind. 

Now that we were safely entrenched and 
domiciled for the present, what of the future? 
Everything for which the expedition was 
undertaken had now been accomplished. The 
long hard journey with its varied vicissi¬ 
tudes had been made, and gold, the prime 
object, had been found. What next was to 
be done? Evidently it would not do to re¬ 
main inactive in our safe retreat until our 
store of provisions was exhausted, or until 
our ammunition was all gone. Plainly com¬ 
munication must be opened with the outside 
world at all hazards, and at once, before the 
Indians should start on the warpath, thirst¬ 
ing for vengeance on the trespassers on their 
rightful domain, and before the government 
should take measures to prevent reinforce¬ 
ments from reaching us. 

MESSENGERS CARRY OUT THE GLAD TIDINGS 

We all felt satisfied that as soon as the 
people were assured of our success, immi¬ 
gration would at once begin, but to accom¬ 
plish this some one must undertake the 
dangerous journey back to civilization. Who 
would have the hardihood to undertake such 
a ride over the bleak prairie in the depth of 


BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


109 


winter ? 

No difficulty was experienced on that 
score, as Gordon and Witcher were not only 
willing, but anxious to bear out the glad 
tidings, and both having good saddle horses, 
they were of course conceded the honor. 

As the intelligence to be sent out must be 
accompanied by actual gold as an indisput¬ 
able voucher, much had to be done in the way 
of making preparations for the journey. A 
rude rocker was constructed out of one of 
the wagon boxes, when several days were 
spent in rocking out gold from the bed of 
French creek, resulting in the production of 
a sufficient quantity of the glittering scales 
to prove its existence in paying quantities, 
beyond dispute. 

Many letters, too, had to be written to our 
respective friends, for not since the day we 
left the settlements had a single word been 
communicated to those left behind. Besides, 
on the day we left camp on the banks of the 
“Big Muddy,” the irrepressible Charlie 
Collins, who was present to bid the expedi¬ 
tion Godspeed on its dangerous journey, 
exacted a promise from several members of 
the party, myself among them, to send back, 


110 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

at the first opportunity, letters for publica¬ 
tion in the Sioux City Times , of which he 
was then editor, and as fortunately we were 
supplied with material the promise was 
faithfully kept. 

On the 6th day of February, 1875, a pack 
horse was loaded with the necessary sup¬ 
plies, blankets, ammunition, etc., when the 
two plucky men, John Gordon and Eaf 
Witcher, mounted their horses and started 
away from the stockade with the gold, and 
numerous messages to friends, on their 
winter's journey, across the untraveled, 
snow-covered plains; civilization, home, and 
friends before, and an uncertain fate behind, 
for Sioux City. Many doubts were expressed 
as they rode away and disappeared in the 
timber as to the probability of their ever 
reaching their destination. For twenty- 
three days they braved the storms and keen 
cutting winds of the prairie, subsisting on 
poorly prepared food, frequently being un¬ 
able to procure the necessary fuel to boil a 
cup of coffee. For twenty-three nights they 
wrapped their blankets about them and laid 
down on the frozen ground or in a hole ex¬ 
cavated in a snow drift, and during much of 


BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


111 


that time their horses had to paw away the 
snow to reach the grass which afforded them 
but a bare subsistance. Poor brutes! 

The route taken by them was in a south¬ 
easterly direction to the Niobrara river, 
thence along the valley of that stream to 
Yankton, thence down the Missouri river to 
Sioux City. Three days before reaching 
Yankton their supplies became so nearly ex¬ 
hausted that they were reduced to quarter 
rations, and the horses had almost reached 
the point of starvation. When about a day's 
journey distant from Yankton, Mr. Gordon’s 
horse gave out and he was obliged to halt a 
day to let him recuperate. Meanwhile Eaf, 
who it is alleged gave Mr. Gordon the slip, 
was riding away on his more powerful 
horse posthaste to Sioux City, reaching that 
point twenty-four hours in advance of his 
comrade. When Gordon arrived next day 
with the gold, Eaf was having a gala time 
indeed. He was being feted and banqueted, 
and I don’t know but that he was carried 
around the streets upon the shoulders of 
some of its citizens. As to that tradition is 
silent. Be that as it may, when poor Mr. 
Gordon arrived on the scene, the enthusiasm 


112 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

of the people had reached its zenith. 

The people of Sioux City naturally felt 
much gratified and elated at the success of 
the first expedition, as it was at that point 
it had equipped only a few months before. 

When the letters, with glaring headlines, 
appeared in the daily papers on the follow¬ 
ing morning, there was a perfect furore of 
the wildest excitement, which however was 
not long confined to Sioux City alone. The 
story soon spread to the remotest bounds of 

our country, and became the almost universal 

> 

topic of conversation. 

From that time government lines were 
drawn closer around the Sioux domain, and 
hundreds soon began to gather along the 
borders, seeking for some loophole to slip 
through; many succeeded, some failed, as we 
know. 

When our messengers left the stockade 
the mutual understanding was, that they 
would immediately proceed to organize an¬ 
other expedition, steal a march on the 
government, and return to our relief with 
reinforcements and additional supplies. 

Now some may come to the conclusion, 
from this scheme, that the pioneers of 1874 


BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


113 


were regular filibusters; but no, they were 
neither filibusters, freebooters, nor pirates, 
but peaceable, law-abiding citizens of the 
United States—however, “with keen eyes to 
the main chance.” 

Mr. Gordon, in accordance with the plan 
formulated, lost no time in organizing an¬ 
other expedition, which managed somehow 
to elude the vigilance of the government, and 
get pretty well on its way to the Hills, when 
it was intercepted by a military force, the 
wagons and supplies burned, and Gordon, 
the leader, placed under military surveil¬ 
lance. 

The twenty-two men, now left in the 
stockade, spent the long, weary weeks of 
waiting, according to their various inclina¬ 
tions; some rocked gold on French creek, 
when the weather was favorable, others 
spent their time in prospecting and hunting 
during the day, and—well, I hardly know 
how they did spend the long winter evenings. 
It is thought, however, that some of them 
played whist and the old fashioned game of 
euchre, or an occasional friendly game of 
draw poker for pastime, as such terms as 
“Honors are easy,” “I pass,” etc., could fre- 


114 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

quently be heard from the neighboring 
cabins. Why, what else could they do, in the 
absence of newspapers and books, to occupy 
the mind? By the way, I did manage to 
smuggle in “Milton’s Paradise Lost,” and a 
funny romance, entitled “The English 
Orphans,” on leaving civilization, which 
were read, re-read and read again, until 
every word from Alpha to Omega was print¬ 
ed in ever-living characters upon the tablets 
of my memory. So imbued did I become with 
the spirit and sentiment of those works, that 
I felt at times, as if paradise was indeed lost 
to me,—never to be regained, while at other 
times I felt myself growing very much like 
“Sal. Furbish” in the English Orphans. 
Didn’t I enjoy life in the stockade? Oh, that 
mine enemy might be condemned to spend a 
winter under like circumstances and con¬ 
ditions,—but no, I could not wish that even 
my deadliest foe be so cruelly punished. 

Imagine yourself imprisoned within the 
gloomy walls of an inclosure, and more 
closely confined within the still gloomier 
walls of a cell-like cabin, with no work for 
mind or hand to do, and with an uncertain 
fate hanging over your head, and you may 


BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


115 


be able to form a faint conception of the 
misery of life in the old stockade during the 
memorable winter of 1874-5. The very re¬ 
membrance causes ague chills to creep 
rapidly along the spinal column. Sooner by 
far would I take my chances with the Sioux 
Indians out on the open plain. This gloomy 
picture of life in the stockade, let it be under¬ 
stood, is but a reflex of my own individual 
experience, and not of my companions, who 
perhaps took a more optimistic view of the 
situation. Yet, it is certain that time hung 
heavily on the hands of every one within the 
walls of the stockade. 

When vigilance began to relax and the 
warm days of early spring came I frequently 
ventured out to wander about on the sunny 
slopes of the adjacent hills, incidentally look¬ 
ing for gold which I expected to find scat¬ 
tered about quite plentifully along the hill¬ 
sides and in the gulches. No, I didn’t find any 
worth speaking of. I was pre-eminently a 
tender-foot then, since, however, I have had 
numerous object lessons, which have made 
me a wiser if not better woman. In taking 
these long rambles I was very careful not to 
lose sight of the stockade, as despite its 


116 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

gloom it afforded a haven of safety in case 
of danger. 

These pleasant excursions were brought, 
by an amusing incident, to an abrupt termin¬ 
ation. One day while seated on a large 
boulder of quartz on the top of a low hill 
drinking the wonderful beauty of the sur¬ 
rounding landscape, my eyes chanced to 
glance dowrn the valley below, when they be¬ 
came riveted by a sort of fascination on a 
clump of bushes, among which I detected a 
slight unnatural movement. While looking, 
lo, the bushes became violently agitated, 
swaying back and forth in a very suspicious 
manner as if an Indian was lurking among 
its branches. 

I hesitated no longer. Over boulders and 
jagged rocks I went down the slope, but I 
have never been quite able to understand just 
how I reached the bottom of that hill. All I 
know it that I got there and didn't stand on 
the order of my going. Along up the valley 
I ran with the fleetness of a professional 
sprinter, through the bushes, over fallen 
trees, clearing every obstruction with a 
bound. I fairly flew, fear adding speed to 
my wings, until reaching within a short dis- 


BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


117 


tance of the stockade, when I was forced to 
make a slight detour to avoid the bullets that 
were coming directly towards me on my line 
of flight. The boys were shooting at a mark 
blazed on a tree a little below the stockade, 
where I stopped to look back to see how 
many Indians were following on my trail, 
and I must confess to a feeling of no little 
disappointment that I was not being pursued 
by a band of Sioux, in war paint. Such a 
splendid chance to become the heroine of a 
thrilling adventure and a hair-breadth es¬ 
cape was lost. 

I arrived at the stockade breathless and 
excited, and when questioned as to the cause 
of my perturbation, I answered, evasively, 
“Oh, nothing much. It was probably nothing 
more than a mountain lion, or wild cat, or 
perchance an innocent rabbit.” It is need¬ 
less to say that from that time I kept reli¬ 
giously behind the entrenchments. 

TWO MORE LEAVE THE STOCKADE 

Shortly after Messrs. Gordon and Witcher 
left for Sioux City with the gold, two more 
of our number began to devise ways and 
means for returning to civilization. To ac¬ 
complish their purpose, they, by their 


118 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

combined ingenuity, planned a small vehicle 
to transport their supplies, blankets, and 
other belongings to Fort Laramie. The 
affair was to be a kind of dual combination 
of part cart and part sled, and really showed 
a good deal of foresight on the part of the 
designers, who shrewdly reasoned that while 
there was deep snow in the hills there might 
be none outside. No, they were not intend¬ 
ing to draw the very peculiar rig themselves, 
although if their going out had hinged upon 
that alternative, they would not for a mo¬ 
ment have hesitated to hitch themselves to 
the car, but fortune smiled upon the two 
homesick tender feet for once, at least. 
Blackwell and McLaren were providentially 
the owners of a single ox—-free from all in¬ 
cumbrance, that was to be used as the motor 
power, and for which a kind of harness was 
made of skins and such other material as 
was available. This one emaciated ox was 
all that was left to the poor fellows of their 
original investment in the expedition. 

On the morning of the 14th day of Febru¬ 
ary, their unique contrivance being complete, 
the vehicle was loaded with provisions, 
blankets, etc., the motive power attached, and 


BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


119 


the fragile-looking outfit was ready to pull 
out on its terribly perilous journey to Fort 
Laramie. 

It would indeed be difficult to imagine any¬ 
thing more grotesquely ludicrous than the 
spectacle they presented, as they marched 
away from the stockade. Of course, we all 
felt sad to see them go, but we could not help 
laughing at the little outfit as it started away 
from the stockade. The poor, bony half- 
starved ox rigged out in his motely harness, 
hitched to the Liliputian vehicle—not much 
larger than a good-sized hand sled, piled up 
high with its load of supplies, blankets, etc., 
and the wheels of the contrivance strapped 
on top, venturing out in the winter, on a 
journey of two hundred miles through a 
hostile country, was a sight—the very pathos 
of which made it irresistibly funny. It 
scarcely seemed possible that they would 
ever reach Fort Laramie alive. 

As night approached, the wrecked craft 
returned. Something had given out or 
weakened, obliging them to put back to the 
stockade for repairs. The next morning they 
started away again, and the poor fellows 


were seen no more. 


120 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

Blackwell and McLaren never returned to 
the Hills, for, according to their own de- 

t 

claration, they had had enough of them to 
last the balance of their lives, and would have 
turned back long before reaching the Hills, 
had it been possible. Mr. Blackwell especially 
was homesick from the day he left the settle¬ 
ment. A brave fellow he was, nevertheless. 
“Well,” he said one day, while en route, “this 
is the worst pill I was ever compelled to 
swallow,” and as I have swallowed a good 
many doses of the same kind of pills, I am 
prepared to vouch for the probable correct¬ 
ness of his assertion. 

The infection spread, for about three 
weeks later, or on the 6th of March, four 
others of our already small band marched 
away from the stockade for Fort Laramie, 
viz., Newton Warren (happy Uncle Nute), 
D. McDonald (Red Dan), J. J. Wililams, and 
Henry Thomas,-—but, ah, I forgot, there 
were five of them—the donkey left the Black 
Hills at the same time for good, and never 
after did his musical notes echo through the 
picturesque hills of the great Golconda. Two 
of the deserters, having saddle horses, rode 
away with blankets strapped onto their 


BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


121 


saddles behind, and guns across the pom¬ 
mels in front; another had the donkey, but 
tradition is silent as to whether he rode him 
out or packed him with his belongings and 
walked by his side,—that must be left to con¬ 
jecture. J. J. Williams, with gun across his 
shoulder, and pack on his back, walked out, 
and through the deep snow of the trackless 
forest it was no easy task, methinks. Our 
force was now reduced to eighteen men. 

Six weeks had elapsed since our messen¬ 
gers had left us, and grave doubts began to 
arise in our minds as to the probability of 
reinforcements ever reaching us. Perhaps 
by this time the strong arm of the govern¬ 
ment had intervened to prevent any farther 
trespass on the Sioux domain. Still we 
looked anxiously from day to day for some 
tidings from the men, who had carried the 
proof of our safety and success to the world. 

Our situation, notwithstanding the 
strength of our position, was neither an en¬ 
viable, nor a pleasant one; realizing, as we 
did, that the Indians would soon be leaving 
(if they had not already left), the agencies 
on their mission of revenge. In view of 
this, well knowing the modes of the Indians, 


122 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

every precaution was taken to guard against 
their depredations, or an attack. All com¬ 
bustible substances, such as fragments of 
pine, brush, etc., were gathered into piles 
and burned; even the grass for some distance 
around the stockade was burned to the roots. 
Every one familiar with the methods of the 
Indians knows, that burning the enemy out 
is their sure resort, when all other means 
fail. 

During the month of March, 1875, the 
pioneers of 1874 surveyed and platted the 
first town site in the Black Hills, on French 
creek, in that little dimple in the hills where 
stood the stockade. By the aid of a picket 
rope, and a small pocket compass, the site 

was laid out into blocks and streets and 
christened Harney City in honor of the great 
Indian fighter, Gen. Harney. Log founda¬ 
tions were laid on the corner lots of the 
principal streets by the fortunate ones who 
drew them. It is now amusing to recall how 
anxious I was to draw a desirable or central 
corner lot, in what was confidently prophe¬ 
sied was destined to become the metropolis 
of the coming golden empire. 

April was finally ushered in with one of 


BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


123 


the blinding snow storms so common in 
Dakota during that month. The wind blew 
fierce and cold, piling up the snow in drifts 
all through the nooks and crannies of the 
Hills, and scattering our poor cattle in every 
direction—anywhere to find shelter from the 
driving storm. 

THE STOCKADE PARTY TAKEN OUT OF THE 
HILLS BY THE MILITARY 

One evening during this storm, just as 
the great gate was about to be closed and 
barred for the night, four men, unheralded 
and unbidden, rode boldly right into our 
stronghold, causing no little consternation 
and excitement in our usually quiet little 
community. At first sight they were thought 
to be the vanguard of our expected reinforce¬ 
ments, but upon a second look it was seen 
that two of our visitors were in military 
uniform, while, in the other two we recog¬ 
nized the familiar faces of our quondam 
comrades, J. J. Williams and Dan McDonald, 
who, as emissaries of Uncle Sam, had also 
donned soldier’s clothes. The blue coats and 
brass buttons betrayed their mission. It 
developed then that the four men who had 
left the stockade on the 6th of March, had 


124 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

after a hard journey of eight days reached 
Fort Laramie in safety, though not without 
encountering Indians. As the little party 
were crossing the head of Red Canyon, they 
were confronted by two well-armed mounted 
braves riding directly towards them. Natur¬ 
ally the boys were slightly alarmed at the 
prospect with the two burly savages, but 
they immediately leveled their guns at the 
approaching Indians, who by frantic gesticu¬ 
lations made it known that they were not 
hostile, but “good Injuns.” They also en¬ 
countered a large band of Indians and 
squaws with papooses, on the Cheyenne 
river, who made no hostile demonstrations. 

After a few days for rest and recupera¬ 
tion two of the party proceeded on their 
journey homeward, while the other two were 
detained to guide the soldiers back to the 
quarters of the pioneers in the Hills. And 
that is how we were at last found. 

The four mounted men who rode, unan¬ 
nounced, into our midst on the evening of the 
4th of April, proved to be J. J. Williams, Dan 
McDonald, and two lieutenants in the Sec¬ 
ond United States Cavalry, detailed from 
their camp twelve miles below, bearing 


BUILDING THE STOCKADE 


125 


orders to our party to make immediate prep¬ 
arations for leaving the Black Hills. The 
entire force sent to remove the trespassers, 
consisted of a troop of cavalry, about twenty- 
five pack mules and a large train of wagons, 
to carry rations and forage, and an ambul¬ 
ance for the use of the female trespasser, all 
under the command of Capt. Mix, of the 
Second United States Cavalry. 

We were proclaimed prisoners, although 
no formal arrests were made, and given just 
twenty-four hours to hunt our scattered 
stock and make other needful preparations 
for leaving the stockade. Instructions were 
given, that nothing but the necessary 
articles of clothing, blankets, etc., and enough 
provisions to serve until reaching Fort 
Laramie, could be transported. 

The next day was a busy one—a day spent 
in preparing to give up all that we had 
risked our lives to attain. Some started out 
in search of stock, that had been scattered 
to the four winds by the storm, while others 
were putting together such few articles as 
could be taken, and caching or hiding such 
property as must be left behind. All mining 
implements, mechanics' tools, chains, etc., 


126 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 
had to be left. 

The writer of this story cached a trunk 
containing all her wordly goods, and although 
she has been searching diligently for more 
than two decades, her eyes have never yet 
been gladdened by a sight of the trunk, or 
a single article of its contents. 

The limited time allowed us for prepara¬ 
tions had expired. The search for the stock 
had proved, in part, fruitless—only about 
half having been found; our goods and 
chattels had been cached and our little 
bundles tied up, and we were ready to be 
marched out of the land of promise, to that 
from which we came. 


CHAPTER VII. 

RIDING OUT OF THE BLACK HIILS ON 
A GOVERNMENT MULE 

I wonder if any of my fair readers ever 
rode a government mule, or any kind of a 
mule for that matter, for a mule is a mule 
the world over. If not, they, of course, know 
nothing of the exhilaration, the real keen en¬ 
joyment such a ride affords, and have lost 
much of earth’s pleasures. I have had that 
delectable experience, and it furnished me 
more genuine amusement to the square inch 
than I ever had either before or since, and 
this is how it happened. The troops ordered 
in to take us out of the Black Hills, suppos¬ 
ing it impracticable to reach the stockade 
through the rugged hills with their wagons, 
went into camp, about twelve miles below, 
thus making it necessary to send in pack 
mules to carry out our belongings. 

About 9.30 o’clock on the morning of the 


128 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

6th of April, a troop of cavalry with their 
high stepping, glossy steeds, and about 
twenty-five pack mules, put in their appear¬ 
ance at the stockade, and, as everything was 
in readiness, it took but a short time to load 
and strap our goods on to the pack saddles. 
That being accomplished, it developed that 
there was one more mule than was needed 
for packing purposes. Now, to this extra 
pack mule—whether by previous design or 
otherwise is a matter for conjecture—was 
assigned the honor (?) of carrying out the 
first white woman to enter the Black Hills. 

The boys, or most of them, having no 
saddle horses, of course had to walk to the 
camp below, so started a little in advance 
driving the few cattle that were found before 
them; but—what was I to do? 

Just as I was revolving this vital question 
in my mind, one of the men having charge of 
the mules—or a muleteer—appeared at the 
door of our cabin, where I stood in a some¬ 
what uncertain state of mind, and inquired: 
“Well, mum, what are you goin’ to do? Ride 
or walk?” Fully appreciating his gener¬ 
osity in thus allowing me the choice of two 
alternatives, I told him with some asperity, 


ON A GOVERNMENT MULE 


129 


that I had walked into the Black Hills, and, 
if necessary, could easily walk out, but, I 
added, “as the snow is pretty deep, I would 
prefer to ride if there is a way provided.” 

“Did you ever ride much on horseback?” 
he asked. I very modestly informed him 
that I was a skilled horsewoman, and was 
perfectly at home on the saddle, as I had 
ridden more or less from childhood up. 

“Oh, well, I think we can fix it all right. 
The command is ready to march, and we had 
better be startin’,” he said. 

Thus urged I donned my hood and wraps 
and followed him out through the wide gate, 
with a throb in my heart, and a tear in each 
eye—I felt it was for the last time—and 
there, before my astonished vision, stood the 
prancing, dancing steed I had been expected 
to ride, transformed into an old, scarred 
mule, several hands higher than any mule I 
had ever seen before; with head bowed down 
with the weight of accumulated years, and 
a long apprenticeship in military service, 
and the full modicum of “cheek” of the 
traditional government mule, and, to cap the 
climax, a masculine saddle on his back. I 
stood aghast. 


130 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

“Jupiter, Olympus,” I cried, “you don’t ex¬ 
pect me to ride that beast to camp, a distance 
of twelve miles, do you?” “I guess you’ll 
have to, or walk,” he answered. After mak¬ 
ing a careful mental estimate of the distance 
from the saddle to the ground, I concluded 
it would be an extremely hazardous under¬ 
taking, so I pleaded: “No, I can’t do it. If 
I should be thrown, it would be almost cer¬ 
tain death.” “All right, you’re the doctor,” 
he answered nonchalantly. 

Now, if I had been modeled after the “new 
woman,” or if I had been a little less con¬ 
servative, the difficulty, in part, might have 
been overcome. However, I finally concluded 
to accept the situation, so asked the mule¬ 
teer to tighten up the saddle girth a litle and 
I would try it. Did you ever know of a 
woman venturing on a saddle, without first 
making sure that the girth was safely tight? 

My attendant signified his willingness to 
humor my whim, so unbuckling the strap, he 
gave it a vigorous pull, when the mule, in 
physical protest against his proceedings, be¬ 
gan to increase, by inflation and expansion, 
his already abnormal circumference; and, 
in further protest, uttered a series of such 


ON A GOVERNMENT MULE 


131 


alarming groans and grunts, at the same 
time looking back with appealing eyes, moist 
with unshed tears,—as much as to say, 
“Please, don’t,” that I was moved to relent, 
thinking that the poor brute was in the last 
throes of dissolution. So I told the man to 
leave the girth as it was, and I would take my 
chances. 

At that moment, the inspiring bugle notes 
gave the signal “mount,” when the whole 
command simultaneously vaulted into their 
saddles—that is, all but the muleteer and I. 
Another bugle signal of “Forward, march!” 
was sounded, and the column marched on in 
double file. I was struck at the time by the 
beauty and perfection of the discipline 
maintained in the regular army. 

“Now, just put your foot in my hand, and 
I’ll help you onto the mule,” said my attend¬ 
ant. I did as directed, and with an agile 
spring that would have done credit to an 
acrobat, I was landed safely into the saddle. 

“There you are,” said he, and sure enough, 
there I was, perched on the back of a “gov¬ 
ernment mule.” He placed my foot in the 
stirrup, carefully arranged my somewhat 
abbreviated riding skirt, then after one long, 


132 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

lingering look at the old stockade and its 
environments, to get a last impression of the 
place where I had spent so many weary, 
anxious days and nights, we started off down 
the valley at a tolerably brisk pace, soon over¬ 
taking and joining the cavalcade which was 
a little in advance. Just at this juncture we 
came to a point where French creek crossed 
the gulch, and do you suppose that mule 
could be induced by any peaceable measures 
to wade the stream? No, not a bit of it. I 
urged and coaxed and patted and thrust my 
heel vigorously into his side (I had no spurs), 
but without avail. Forced to resort to heroic 
methods, I threatened a while (no, I didn’t 
punctuate my threats with any very strong 
adjectives) and finally dealt him a sudden 
blow with my whip (a willow rod cut from 
the bushes bordering French creek), where¬ 
upon the mule suddenly reared, and made a 
flying leap across, landing on the opposite 
side on all fours. Of course I was greatly 
astonished at such an eccentric feat on the 
part of the mule—especially so, as I had 
considered him old enough to be more dig¬ 
nified, but was not in the least disconcerted. 
I managed somehow to maintain my equi- 


ON A GOVERNMENT MULE 


133 


librium on the saddle, notwithstanding the 
fact that I was taken completely off my 
guard. “Be careful now and hold fast to 
the saddle or he will throw you in to the 
middle of next week,” cried my escort in 
apparent alarm. So as I had no ambition to 
be precipitated into the future in such an 
unceremonious manner, I did afterward 
hold on to the saddle with such a grip that 
no natural forces—not even an earthquake, 
could have unseated me. 

At each of the crossings of that crooked, 
meandering stream, the mule resolutely re¬ 
fused to go into the water, always leaping 
across after his own fashion. However, 
after several crossings were successfully 
made I had learned to adapt myself to the 
motions of the mule, and had gained so much 
confidence in my own skill that I soon 
loosened my vice-like grip on the saddle al¬ 
together. 

At one of the crossings, while I was fiercely 
struggling to obtain the mastery over the 
stubborn proclivities of the mule, a dashing 
young lieutenant suddenly wheeled out of 
his position on the flank of the column, rode 
back, and politely offered to exchange mounts 


134 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

with me. What impelled him to such an act 
of gallantry was, and is, largely conjectural; 
however, as I had a pretty well-grounded 
suspicion that some of the troopers, both 
privates and officers, were having a good deal 
of amusement at our expense—that is, at 
mine and the mule’s—I positively but courte¬ 
ously declined the proffer. Did they select 
that mule for my use with “malice pre¬ 
pense?” or did they not? That was the 
question. With this suspicion uppermost in 
my mind I assured him that I was well satis¬ 
fied with my mount and was getting along 
splendidly. I was determined to ride that 
mule to camp despite his eccentricities, or 
die in the attempt; besides, to be candid, I 
would not have dared to venture on the back 
of the splendid, high-mettled animal rode by 
the dashing, debonnair young lieutenant. 

After about two hours’ ride we came in 
sight of the military camp dotted over with 
numerous white tents, and the blue-coated 
soldiers, who had already reached camp, mov¬ 
ing about under the scattered trees. A little 
removed from the other two was noticed a 
smaller group of tents, the headquarters of 
Capt. Mix and his staff—a distinction always 



ON A GOVERNMENT MULE 


135 


observable in military camps, I have learned 
since then. 

Anxious to avoid making any further dis¬ 
play of equestrienneship, I decided to dis¬ 
mount at this point and walk into camp, a 
distance of a quarter of a mile or such a 
matter, so I slid down from the saddle—as 
gracefully as could be expected from such a 
lofty position, but instead of standing on my 
feet as I naturally expected to do, I fell to 
the ground in a helpless heap, benumbed in 
every limb, utterly paralyzed. The muleteer, 
who had kept faithfully at my side since 
leaving the stockade, quickly dismounting, 
very compassionately offered to assist me t - 
my feet, but I peremptorily ordered him 
away and told him to hasten with all possible 
speed into camp, with my mule, and tell the 
boys that a woman was lying helpless, per¬ 
chance dying, back on the trail, desiring im¬ 
mediate spiritual consolation. The obedient 
muleteer had not proceeded far towards 
camp, however, before a peculiar sensation, 
like the puncture of a million needles, began 
to creep over me, and when upon essaying to 
rise, I found that I could stand on my feet; 
the blood went coursing through my cramped 


) 


136 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

members and soon I was briskly wending my 
way into camp, none the worse for my 
two hours’ ride on a government mule. 

On my arrival at camp I was escorted to 
a comfortable tent, that had been provided 
for my accommodation, where I was directly 
visited by Capt. Mix, whom I had not before 
seen. Very soon the captain’s aid appeared 
at the entrance and handed in a sumptuous 
lunch—a lunch that would have tempted the 
appetite of the most dainty epicure—with 
the compliments of Capt. Mix, and to which 
my readers may be assured ample justice 
was done. Enjoy it? Well, rather; I had 
become very tired of bacon and beans 
straight. 

Here we were told by Capt. Mix that we had 
been in far greater peril than we dreamed 
of, for, he said, on reaching a high point 
about fifty miles from the Hills, with his 
command, the signal fires kindled by the In¬ 
dians who had already surrounded the Hills 
could plainly be seen, and also that forced 
marches had been ordered that our imperiled 
little party might be reached before being 
massacred by the incensed savages. It was 
found on reaching camp, that an ambulance 



ON A GOVERNMENT MULE 137 

had been provided to convey the female 
prisoner from the Black Hills, much to said 
prisoner’s gratification. 

The next day, April 7th, at the customary 
bugle signal, the march was resumed towards 
Fort Laramie, nothing of special importance 
occurring until nearing Red Cloud Agency. 
When a few miles distant from that point 
the train was met by a Frenchman, named 
Baptiste, bearing a message from the agent 
in charge at the post, warning Capt. Mix of 
the hostile attitude of the Indians, who were, 
he said, making threats of sanguinary ven¬ 
geance on the invaders as soon as they 
showed their faces at the agency, and advis¬ 
ing the captain to conceal all the Black Hill¬ 
ers under the canvas wagons of the train. 
Capt. Mix told the boys of the fate in store 
for them, and advised them all to get to 
cover as quickly as possible; the boys, how¬ 
ever, resented the proposition with much 
scorn. They were not made of the kind of 
material implied in such a course. Not only 
did they not hide under the canvas covers, 
but on reaching the agency they circulated 
freely among the Indians who were gathered 
there in large number awaiting their arrival 


138 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

—of course their guns were well in hand, 
and no doubt their very boldness disarmed 
the savages—but instead of proceeding to 
wreak vengeance on the real culprits, they 
seemed to vent their entire displeasure on 
the only innocent member of the party. The 
ambulance in which I was seated was im¬ 
mediately surrounded by about a dozen of 
the most diabolical looking specimens of the 
human form it had ever been my misfortune 
to see. They surveyed me with such malig¬ 
nant curiosity from every possible point of 
view, expressing their entire disapproval of 
me by numerous gestures and grunts, that I 
really became greatly alarmed for my own 
personal safety, and ordered the curtains of 
the ambulance closed that I might be hidden 
from their vindictive gaze. Even then their 
hideous faces could be seen peering in at me 
through every aperture, causing a sensation 
to creep over me, as if pierced by a dozen 
sharp-pointed arrows. 

I don’t know why, but those mistaken and 
misguided savages seemed to regard me as 
the arch-trespasser of the party—the very 
head and front of the whole offending; and 
I feel sure that had it not been for the pre- 


ON A GOVERNMENT MULE 


139 


sence of the troops, I would have been speed¬ 
ily disposed of then and there, and my scalp 
would have graced the belt of one of those 
inhuman savages. We were afterward in¬ 
formed that the military force had some 
difficulty in preventing an outbreak, so 
wrought up were the Indians over such a 
wanton breach of their treaty rights. 

Our stay at the agency was not a prolonged 
one, and greatly was I relieved when the wel¬ 
come bugle notes sounded the signal to 
“march !” 

Although prisoners, we were treated with 
the utmost consideration by both officers 
and men on our march to Fort Laramie. 
Every day a carefully prepared lunch was 
sent to our tent with the compliments of the 
gallant captain. Whether this was done as 
a mere act of common courtesy, or prompted 
by a feeling of commiseration for my truly 
forlorn appearance, and my “lean and 
hungry look” was, and still is, an open ques¬ 
tion. I am afraid the latter is the correct 
interpretation thereof. 

REACH FORT LARAMIE 

In about ten days from the time we left 
camp in the Hills, we came in sight of Fort 


140 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

Laramie, and the American dag floating 
proudly above the government buildings, the 
sight of which caused the fires ot patriotism, 
that had been smouldering within us for the 
six months previous, to burn up with re¬ 
newed intensity, for, be it understood, we 
were all patriotic Americans to the core, and, 
like the prodigal son, were returning to the 
paternal arms of Uncle Sam. 

When about two miles from the fort, a gay 
cavalcade of ladies, on horseback, were seen 
approaching the train, presumably to meet 
their returning husbands and friends, and in¬ 
cidentally to get a glimpse of the prisoners, 
whom they regarded with excusable curios¬ 
ity. 

They brought the alarming information 
that the Platte River was swollen nearly out 
of its banks, and so rapidly rising, that in 
less than an hour it would be impossible to 
ford the stream. There was no bridge at 
that time. The train pushed on with all pos¬ 
sible speed, soon reaching the banks of the 
turbulent Platte. On the surface of the 
stream, logs, roots of trees, and even some 
whole trees, roots and branches, and all man¬ 
ner of debris went rushing along with the 


ON A GOVERNMENT MULE 


141 


dreadful swish of the current towards the 
Missouri. There was no time to be lost, so 
the horses with their heavy wagons plunged 
in, heading up stream and almost floating on 
the bosom of the powerful current, and 
reached the opposite shore in safety. 

The ladies on horseback, the troop of 
cavalry, and the pack mules, including my 
friend, forged through the angry waters; 
the ladies with skirts sweeping the stream, 
accomplishing the daring undertaking first. 

We were then marched to the fort where 
we were detained two days, enjoying its 
hospitality, when the party was released, 
without parole, and given full transportation 
to Cheyenne, Wyoming, where we arrived 
with neither flour in our sacks, nor scrip in 
our purses. 

Here the members of the first expedition 
to penetrate the Black Hills separated, the 
author and family remaining in Cheyenne 
during the summer of 1875 awaiting develp- 
ments in the Sioux problem; the rest of the 
party, after a short delay, boarding a train 
for Sioux City, the point from which the ex¬ 
pedition had embarked in early October of 
the preceding year, where they were received 


142 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

right royally by its citizens. 

When our returning expedition had reached 
to a distance of about ten miles from 
Cheyenne, it was met by that stanch friend 
and abettor of the enterprise, Charlie Col¬ 
lins, who had traveled all the way from Sioux 
City to bid the pioneers welcome home. 

Yes, we were back again within the pale 
of civilization and the law, after an absence 
of nearly seven months. Thus ended the 
memorable journey in and out of the Black 
Hills, with its dangers and hardships, of the 
first expedition, the members of which gained 
nothing save a very dearly-bought experi¬ 
ence. 

The way had been opened, however, for the 
mad rush which speedily followed—in fact, 
it had already begun ere we reached Fort 
Laramie, for, as was afterwards learned, a 
party of men were hanging about Red Cloud 
Agency, waiting to slip into the Hills as soon 
as the troops having the prisoners in charge 
had fairly passed out of sight. 

Some of the members of the first expedi¬ 
tion returned to the Hills during the summer 
of 1875, others in the early spring of 1876, 
while a few never returned, preferring not 


ON A GOVERNMENT MULE 


143 


to face the perils and hardships of a second 
journey to the new Eldorado. Not all the 
gold of Ophir, nor the wealth of India, would 
have tempted some of those few to repeat 
their first experience. 

TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE OF TROOPS SENT AFTER 

OUR EXPEDITION 

It was then learned that as soon as it be¬ 
came known to the military authorities that 
an expedition had really been organized and 
was already on its way to the Black Hills, 
troops were immediately ordered out from 
Fort Robinson, and other military posts, to 
overtake or intercept the expedition and 
bring it back to suffer the penalty for disre¬ 
gard of government orders. The expedition 
was not to be found, however, by any of the 
parties sent out, as the sequel has shown, 
owing, in part, no doubt, to the skillful 
maneuvering and the bewildering gyrations 
of our train along the line. 

The troops ordered out from Fort Robin¬ 
son had a terrible experience in their fruit¬ 
less search after our party, which was at the 
time safely encamped on French creek. The 
command consisting of Troop D., Third 
Cavalry, under the captaincy of Brevet Brig.- 


144 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

Gen. Guy V. Henry, and about fifteen men of 
the Ninth Infantry under Lieut. Carpenter, 
with wagons, rations, etc., for thirty days, 
started from Camp (now Fort) Robinson, 
the 26th of December on their winter’s march 
toward the Black Hills. By the time the 
Cheyenne river was reached, the weather 
became so intensely cold—the thermometer 
going down to forty degrees below zero— 
that the hands of both officers and men were 
terribly frozen. They entered the Hills a 
short distance, but finding no trail started 
back on their homeward journey braving the 
keen cutting wind from the north and barely 
escaping being frozen to death. The story 
of their fearful suffering during their home¬ 
ward ride, is best told in the language f of 
the captain in command, in his graphic and 
interesting published account of his experi¬ 
ence, a short time since. He says: “The 
cold was so intense that it was impossible to 
ride. Dismounting, we led our horses, as 
they, poor brutes, in their suffering, strug¬ 
gled to escape from their riders, who, in their 
frozen condition, had trouble to prevent. 
Our trail was lost or obliterated by the 
snow; our eyes were absolutely sightless 


ON A GOVERNMENT MULE 


145 


from the constant pelting of the frozen parti¬ 
cles, and thus we struggled on. A clump of 
trees or a hill for shelter from the killing, 
life-sapping wind, would have indeed been 
a sweet haven. 

“With frozen hands and faces, men be¬ 
coming weaker and weaker, many bleeding 
from the nose and ears, the weakest lying 
down, and refusing to move,—a precursor 
of death; with them the painful, stinging bite 
of the frost, had been succeeded by the more 
solid freezing, which drives the blood rapidly 
to the center and produces that warm, de¬ 
lightful, dreamy sensation, the forerunner 
of danger and death. They had to be threat¬ 
ened and strapped to their saddles, for if 
left behind death would follow, and an 
officer's duty is to save his men. Ours now 
was a struggle for life; to halt was to freeze 
to death, to advance our only hope, as Red 
Cloud could not be far away, and some of us 
might be able to reach camp with life, though 
with frozen limbs. 

“Weakened, till we could no longer walk, 
in desperation, the command, ‘Mount/ was 
given. Stiffened and frozen, we clambered 
into our saddles. Forward, gallop, and we 


146 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

all knew this was a race for life. We were 
powerless. Brain nor eye could no longer 
help us. The instinct of our horses, would 
alone save those who could hold out. So, on 
we rushed, life and home in front, death be¬ 
hind. Suddenly, turning the curve of the 
hill, we came upon a ranch, inhabited by a 
white man and his squaw, and we were 
saved. Had the sun burst forth with the 
heat of summer, our surprise and joy could 
not have been greater than they were, to find 
this place of refuge and safety in the wilder¬ 
ness, and to be saved from the jaws of death 
by a 'squaw ranch!’ I have since passed 
this ranch, and nothing has ever awakened 
stronger feelings of gratitude than the sight 
of that hovel. The horses were put in the 
corral. Those that were running wild with 
their powerless riders were caught. Men 
were put under shelter, and the process of 
thawing out frozen parts commenced, with 
its attendant pain and suffering. 

"Every officer and man was frozen; some 
suffered more than others; and to this day 
many are suffering from the effects of this 
march by the loss of members. Even where 
there is no physical disability freezing leaves 


ON A GOVERNMENT MULE 


147 


a nervous prostration, from which one never 
recovers. We found ourselves about fifteen 
miles from our post, and so great was the 
cold, that we could not persuade an Indian 
to carry a message to Red Cloud asking that 
wagons and ambulances be sent to our as¬ 
sistance. 

“The next day we received medical atten¬ 
tion, and the helpless were carried to the 
post. 

“There could not have been a greater con¬ 
trast between our departure and return. 
Entering my own quarters, I was not recog¬ 
nized, owing to my blackened swollen face. 
All my fingers were frozen to their second 
joints; the flesh sloughed off, exposing the 
bones. Other flesh gradually grew after¬ 
ward, except on one finger, the first joint of 
which had to be amputated, while the joints 
of my left hand are so stiffened by freezing 
and extraneous deposits, that I am unable to 
bend or close my fingers.” 

The foregoing narrative shows what many 
other officers and soldiers in the past have 
had to undergo on the plains in the per¬ 
formance of duty, and not a winter but has 
its maimed and suffering victims, who have 


148 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

borne their share in the battle of civiliza¬ 
tion, rendering victory possible through the 
protection of settlers, the building and ex¬ 
tension of railroads, and the peopling of the 
Great West. 

It is very easy indeed, for us, pioneers, to 
believe that the above tale of fearful suffer¬ 
ing is not in the least exaggerated, when we 
recall that, at the very time our pursuers 
were struggling in the icy embrace of a 
veritable blizzard, right in the teeth of a 
genuine Norther, that cuts like a razor, we 
were piling up great log fires to ward off the 
intense cold, even though protected from the 
piercing wind by the surrounding hills. It 
is more difficult, however, to understand why 
they should turn on their homeward ride, in 
the face of such a storm, with the thermo¬ 
meter forty degrees below, instead of re¬ 
maining in the shelter of the Hills until the 
cold abated, having plenty of rations, forage, 
etc., with them. 

It appears that Gen. Henry, erroneously 
supposing that our expedition had entered 
the Hills at some point on their southern 
limits, expected to either overtake us or 
strike the trail that would lead directly to 


ON A GOVERNMENT MULE 


149 


our camp in the Hills, when in fact we had 
entered at a point almost diametrically op¬ 
posite. Manifestly we had a very narrow 
escape from capture, as it could not have ex¬ 
ceeded thirty miles from the point reached 
by the troops to our camp on French creek. 

It was learned, too, that a detachment of 
soldiers had also been dispatched on our trail 
from Fort Randall on the Missouri river. It 
transpired that as soon as the band of 
Cheyenne Indians, encountered by our expe¬ 
dition at the Cheyenne river crossing, had 
reached their agency, they gave information 
of having met a large party of white men 
traveling towards the Black Hills, when the 
military authorities at the above named post 
immediately sent a company of mounted in¬ 
fantry in hot pursuit. This company suc¬ 
ceeded in finding our wagon trail which was 
followed into the Hills to some point on the 
Box Elder creek, when, their rations becom¬ 
ing exhausted, it was forced to give up the 
pursuit and return to the post. Soldiers 
attached to that company afterwards told 
that our train could not have been more than 
a day’s journey in advance of them, as they 
had spent the night before turning back near 


150 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

our recently abandoned camp fires. From 
this, it appears that the company were not 
at all anxious to overtake and capture the 
expedition when so near its journey's end. 

A STREET INTERVIEW WITH WILD BILL 
One day during the summer of 1875, while 
walking along one of the principle streets of 
Cheyenne with a friend, there appeared 
sauntering leisurely towards us from the 
opposite direction a tall, straight, and rather 
heavily built individual in ordinary citizen's 
clothes, sans revolver and knives; sans buck¬ 
skin leggins and spurs, and sans everything 
that would betoken the real character of the 
man, save that he wore a broad-brimmed 
sombrero hat, and a profusion of light brown 
hair hanging down over his broad shoulders. 
A nearer view betrayed the fact that he also 
wore a carefully cultivated mustache of a 
still lighter shade, which curled up saucily 
at each corner of his somewhat sinister look¬ 
ing mouth, while on his chin grew a small 
hirsute tuft of the same shade, and, barring 
the two latter appendages, he might easily 
have been taken for a Quaker minister. 
When within a few feet of us, he hesitated 
a moment as if undecided, then, stepping to 










WILD BILL (Harry Hickok) 


152 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

one side, suddenly stopped, at the same time 
doffing his sombrero and addressed me in 
good respectable Anglo-Saxon vernacular 
substantially as follows:— 

“Madam, I hope you will pardon my seem¬ 
ing boldness, but knowing that you have re¬ 
cently returned from the Black Hills, I take 
the liberty of asking a few questions in 
regard to the country, as I expect to go there 
myself soon. ‘My name is Hickoc/ ” I bowed 
low in acknowledgment of the supposed 
honor, but I must confess, that this next an¬ 
nouncement somewhat startled me. 

“I am called Wild Bill,” he continued, “and 
you have, no doubt, heard of me,—although,” 
he added, “I suppose you have heard nothing 
good of me.” 

“Yes,” I candidly answered, “I have often 
heard of Wild Bill, and his reputation at 
least is not at all creditable to him.” “But,” 
I hastened to add, “perhaps he is not so black 
as he is painted.” 

“Well, as to that,” he replied, “I suppose 
I am called a red-handed murderer, which I 
deny. That I have killed men I admit, but 
never unless in absolute self-defense, or in 
the performance of an official duty. I never, 


ON A GOVERNMENT MULE 153 

in my life, took any mean advantage of an 
enemy. Yet, understand,” he added, with a 
dangerous gleam in his eye, ‘‘I never allowed 
a man to get the drop on me. But perhaps 
I may yet die with my boots on,” he said, his 
face softening a little. Ah, was this a pre¬ 
monition of the tragic fate that awaited him? 

After making a few queries relative to the 
Black Hills, which were politely answered, 
Wild Bill, with a gracious bow, that would 
have done credit to a Chesterfield, passed on 
down the street out of sight, and I neither 
saw nor heard more of him until one day in 
August, 1876, when the excited cry of “Wild 
Bill is shot,” was carried along the main 
street of Deadwood. 

During our brief conversation he incident¬ 
ally remarked that he thought I possessed 
a good deal of “sand” to undertake so long 
and dangerous a journey into the Black 
Hills. Now, while Wild Bill, no doubt, in¬ 
tended that sentiment as a great compli¬ 
ment—it being his ideal of “pluck,”—would 
you believe I did not at first quite like the 
imputation. You see I was not as well 
versed in Western phraseology then, as I have 
since become. 


154 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

It was a rather startling experience to be 
“held up” in the main thoroughfare of a 
large, busy town, in broad daylight, by a 
noted desperado, yet Wild Bill performed 
that daring exploit with a single wave of his 
swift unerring right hand. No reflection is 
meant on his memory when it is hinted that 
perhaps he was not well up in street etiquette. 
Be that as it may, I have been strongly im¬ 
pressed ever since with the thought that 
Wild Bill was by no means all bad. It is hard 
to tell what environments may have con¬ 
spired to mould his life into the desperate 
character he is said to have been. 

Before coming to Black Hills in 1876, Wild 
Bill was at one time sheriff somewhere in the 
State of Kansas—in which capacity he is 
reputed to have been a holy terror to law¬ 
breakers. He was for many years notable 
as a government scout, having acted in that 
capacity during the Civil War. The greater 
part of his life had been spent on the plains, 
among the lawless element of the Western 
border, where as an officer of the law, he was 
brought in frequent conflict with all such 
desperate characters as usually infest the 
frontier settlements; murderers, horse- 


ON A GOVERNMENT MULE 155 

thieves, road-agents, and other criminals, 
who seem to believe that the world owes 
them a living which they are bound to have 
at any cost. Wild Bill was in consequence 
mixed up in many a desperate encounter, in 
which the first to press the trigger came off 
victor, and he was usually the first. 

Perhaps the most remarkable peculiarity 
in the make-up of Wild Bill, was his wonder¬ 
ful nerve, and marvelous swiftness as a shot 
—his aim being steady, and his shot like a 
flash of light, it is easy to believe that he 
never allowed a man to get the drop on him. 

Whether he possessed any redeeming 
traits is a disputed question; that he had 
numerous ardent admirers is an admitted 
fact. 

This bold dashing frontiersman, who met 
his fate in the Black Hills, upon a time, met a 
daring and accomplished equestrienne of the 
circus ring, called Madame Agnes Lake, and 
mutually admiring each other’s dashing 
characteristics, they finally loved and were 
married in Cheyenne, Wyoming, in 1874. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

SECOND TRIP INTO THE BLACK HILLS 


It was about the time the Sioux Indians, at 
Red Cloud, Spotted Tail, and the Missouri 
River Agencies, were rubbing on their war 
paint, and donning their feathers, prepara¬ 
tory to starting out on the warpath after the 
scalps of Black Hills gold adventurers in 
1876, just as spring was slipping from the 
lap of winter, and while there were yet banks 
of snow lying in the bottom of the ravines, 
and small patches of “the beautiful” lay 
scattered here and there on the northern 
slopes of the low sand-hills around the city 
of Cheyenne, and when the mud lay hub deep 
in the low depressions along the military 
highway leading to old Fort Laramie, that a 
small party of immigrants, six in number, 
with three two-horse teams, and as many 
wagons, left the phenomenally windy city for 
the Black Hills. When I say “phenomenally 


SECOND TRIP INTO THE HILLS 157 


windy” I speak advisedly—having seen good- 
sized pebbles lifted from the ground, carried 
along and toyed with by a fierce “nor’wester,” 
as if they were mere grains of sand, cutting 
the faces of pedestrians like keen razors. 

One of the wagons of the little train was 
loaded to the guards with merchandise for 
the Deadwood market—in charge of a man 
afterwards well known in the Hills as 
“Deaf Thompson;” another with sundry sup- 
plies, camp equipment, etc., of H. N. Gilbert 
& Son—Sam, than whom, truer gentleman 
never rehearsed a story around a camp-fire. 
The third wagon carried the household 
belongings of D. G. Tallent, then on the 
third trip to the Black Hills, and it is need¬ 
less to state that the ivriter of this story 
was part and parcel of said household goods. 

Yes, it is twenty-three years since that 
day in early April, when I bade a reluctant 
adieu to the wind-swept yet hospitable city 
of Cheyenne, and, seated in a canvas-cov¬ 
ered wagon, behind a span of lean, ossified 
horses, that had been nearly starved to death 
during a snowstorm on their way out of the 
Black Hills two weeks before, resolutely 
turned my back once more upon civilization 


158 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

and all that it implies, to face the discom¬ 
forts, hardships, and positive perils of a 
second journey to the golden “mecca”—a 
journey which proved to be full of exciting 
situations. 

There is not much in the way of scenic 
attractions to engage the interest of travel¬ 
ers along the road from Cheyenne to Fort 
Laramie—as hundreds who have passed over 
the route will remember—and it was only 
the superabundance of mud encountered at 
intervals, claiming our undivided attentioin, 
that relieved the journey from the appro- 
brium of being called disgustingly monoto¬ 
nous—without even the spice of danger. 

Several ranches were passed, in conven¬ 
ient succession, where good camping grounds 
were found, and where accommodations 
were furnished for man and beast—bearing 
the unpoetic though perhaps suggestive 
appellations of Pole Creek, Horse Creek, and 
Chugwater—after the creeks upon which 
they were located. The latter creek, by the 
way, is deserving of a more euphonious name 
than Chug, as it is really a beautiful moun¬ 
tain stream, whose valley was already 
covered with a luxuriant growth of grass, in 


SECOND TRIP INTO THE HILLS 


159 


pleasing contrast to the dreary stretch 
through which we had just passed. 

Nothing occurred to materially change 
the original status of our little party until it 
crossed the Plate river, when our numbers 
began rapidly to augment and our train to 
lengthen, for, by the time we were well out¬ 
side the military reservation, we had ex¬ 
panded into quite a formidable expedition of 
about ninety well-armed men, twenty-five or 
thirty wagons, besides a few horsemen. 
Among the recruits were Frank Thulen, Wm. 
Cosgrove, Billy Stokes, Chas. Blackwell, and 
D. Tom Smith, all well-known early pioneers. 
I came within one of being the only woman in 
the outfit, and that one was Mrs. Robinson, 
now living at Dakota City, on the Cheyenne 
river. 

Although no Indians were encountered on 
the route, every man in the party, realizing 
that there was danger all along the line, car¬ 
ried his arms upon his shoulder during the 
day, and slept with them by his side during 
the night with his cartridge belts under his 
hard pillow. Reports came thick and fast of 
their atrocious deeds near the foot-hills— 
brought out by returning fighters, and the 


160 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

numerous tenderfeet who were leaving the 
Kills at the time. On reaching Hat creek 
these alarming reports received full confir¬ 
mation, and we came face to face with the 
perilous situation. Curley, one of the victims 
of the Col. Brown tragedy, was lying at the 
time dangerously wounded, in a little hut, at 
the station, with but small hopes of recovery. 
When it became known that a man was ly¬ 
ing in a cabin near by, riddled with Indian 
bullets, excitement and consternation spread 
through the ranks of the expedition, especi¬ 
ally along the rank and file of the two women 
of the party. The men, however, buckled on 
their armor and prepared for the worst, 
scarcely daring to hope to escape a conflict 
with the redskins. Every precaution being 
taken to guard against surprise, the train, 
flanked by a line of armed men, marched 
boldly on towards the Hills, preceded by an 
advance guard of six men—and thereby 
hangs a tale. Now, in view of the tactics 
peculiar to Indian strategy and attack, an 
advance guard per se may be all right and 
proper, but, when a body of six armed men 
persist in marching in advance of me, either 
at short range or long range, with the 


SECOND TRIP INTO THE HILLS 


161 


muzzles of their guns pointed over their 
shoulders at such an angle that, in case of an 
accidental discharge, their loads would pene¬ 
trate my cranium just at the point where the 
gray matter ought to be, it is quite another 
thing, and assumes an aspect to which I 
object on purely humanitarian grounds. It 
is by no means conducive to longevity to sit 
for hours looking straight into the muzzles 
of six improved Winchester rifles, shifting 
uneasily from this side to that, in a vain en¬ 
deavor to get out of range, and yet that was 
the exact position I occupied for a while the 
day we left Hat Creek stage station. At the 
first halting place our wagon, then near the 
head of the train, was swung out of line and 
relegated to the rear, thus causing my vocab¬ 
ulary of of adjectives in denunciation of the 
dangerous practice to become exhausted. As 
our train neared the Hills we were met every 
few miles of the way by outward-bound pil¬ 
grims, whose forlorn condition stirred me 
with deep compassion. It would be difficult, 
indeed, to picture a more pathetic spectacle. 
Their bright visions of suddenly acquired 
wealth had vanished as mist beneath the 
burning rays of a tropical sun, and they 


162 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

were returning from the quest disenchanted, 
embittered, and many of them destitute. For 
the major part their clothes were badly soiled 
and worn; and some there were, alas! whose 
trousers were literally patched with an old 
flour sack, with “for family use” to be seen 
on the back, and a few with sadly demoral¬ 
ized shoes, through which naked protuding 
toes bade bold defiance to the untoward 
elements, and nearly all breathed bitter 
maledictions against the Black Hills, as well 
as every person who had the temerity to 
express faith in them. Every man of them, 
however, carried a gun, as it behooved him 
to do. Notwithstanding these discouraging 
incidents along the line, our belief in the 
Black Hills remained unshaken, and all 
believing there was better luck in store for 
them, pressed gallantly onward, scarcely 
venturing to look back. I, for one, remem¬ 
bering the example of Lot's wife, was 
determined to take no chances on the 
possibility of being speedily converted into 
a “pillar of salt.” 

On reaching the Cheyenne river stage sta¬ 
tion our susceptibilities were still farther 
harrowed up by seeing two men engaged in 


SECOND TRIP INTO THE HILLS 163 

exhuming the bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Metz, 
which were being removed to Laramie City, 
Wyoming, their former home, for permanent 
burial. One of the men was a brother of 
Mrs. Metz. 

In passing through Red Canyon, numerous 
evidences of the terrible tragedies enacted 
there only a few days before, were discovered- 
scattered along the trail, admonishing us 
to be on the sharp lookout for ambushed 
Indians. While the men manifested no great 
apprehensions of trouble—though keeping 
their guns well in hand, I, on the contrary, 
was in momentary expectation of an attack. 
Furtively I glanced from side to side of the 
defile, looking for the plumed heads and cruel 
beady eyes of the savages peering out at us 
from behind the rocks. How could we know 
but at that very time they might be lurking 
behind the red crags, or in the narrow 
ravines, waiting to swoop down upon us at 
the opportune time, “like wolves on the 
fold”—as they had done twice within ten 
days before; and, in the light of a subsequent 
tragedy, it is believed they were on our trail 
even then. 

Just as the train emerged from the canyon 


164 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

the climax came. At a signal from one of 
the vanguards, the train came to a dead halt. 
The men marching along in the flanks with 
guns pointed over their shoulders at the 
customary dangerous angle, unshouldered 
their arms, and, grasping them tightly in 
both hands, rushed precipitately to a bank 
overlooking a narrow ravine ahead. I thought 
my worst fears were realized and my days 
numbered. All my past shortcomings and 
fast-goings stood up before me in ghostly 
array, refusing to be laid. Bang! bang! bang! 
bang! bang! went the guns, until it seemed 

their magazines were exhausted, when they 

\ 

came back in line and the train moved on. 
When asked for an explanation of their con¬ 
duct, they reported that they had been shoot¬ 
ing at a deer. Naturally enough I felt con¬ 
siderably chagrined, at having been caused 
such unnecessary alarm, but had partial com¬ 
pensation in the knowledge that the poor 
deer escaped the terrible fullisade of bullets 
unscathed. However I breathed freely again 
and went on sinning as before. 

In due time the train arrived at Custer, 
soon after which it was discovered that one 
of our members was missing. A small party 


SECOND TRIP INTO THE HILLS 165 


went back at once, in search of the missing 
man, who was found lying dead on the trail, 
surrounded by the imprint of numerous moc- 
casined feet, two or three miles back from 
Custer. It appeared that he had lingered 
behind the train as it neared Custer, and 
was shot down in his tracks by Indian bullets. 
Lying by his side was a belt, severed in 
twain, which he had worn around his waist, 
in which, upon examination, was found con¬ 
cealed about $3,000.00 in greenbacks, which 
had escaped the scrutiny of the murderers 
and would-be robbers. The body was con¬ 
veyed to Custer, where a committee of in¬ 
quiry made an investigation of the case. 
Papers were found, which revealed his 
identity, his former place of residence, and 
the names of relatives, to whom, at their re¬ 
quest, his remains and effects were shipped. 
The murdered man, whose name was Leggett, 
was apparently about fifty years of age, and 
evidently a man of high respectability. 

It seems obvious, that this band of red 
murderers had watched and followed our 
train, which perhaps they were not strong 
enough to attack, and pounced upon the un¬ 
wary pilgrim who had lingered behind, like 


166 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

beasts of prey upon their victim. 

I stood upon the banks of historic French 
creek; again I looked at the rocky grandeur 
of the towering granite battlements, sur¬ 
rounding Custer's Park, and once more 
reveled amid the beauties of the earthly 
paradise, from which we had been so uncer- 
moniously expelled only a short year before. 
But how strangely metamorphosed had the 
scene become meanwhile, to be sure! The 
dreamy little stream, whose shallow waters 
were wont to gurgle and murmur peacefully 
along their pebbly bed, without let or 
hindrance, is found diverted from its natural 
channel into numerous prosaic ditches and 
sluice boxes, and its valley literally turned 
topsy-turvey,—shorn of all its original at¬ 
tractiveness. 

But this was not all. Where no human 
habitation existed—not even the most primi¬ 
tive kind of a hut, unless perhaps a deserted 
Indian tepee—we find a populous city 
reared; the pine-covered hill-tops had been 
invaded; the solemn hush that brooded over 
all had been superseded by the noise and din 
of many human activities. Change was 
plainly written upon the face of the whole 


SECOND TRIP INTO THE HILLS 167 


landscape. The rugged grandeur of the lofty 
jagged peaks rising up on every side alone 
remained unchanged and unchangeable. 

Impelled by a longing, in which, however, 
there was but little of sentiment, to have one 
more look at the old stockade and its familiar 
environments, one bright morning soon after 
the sun had sailed over the naked crest of 
Calamity Park, I sallied out and strolled 
down the valley, musing while I strolled, 
upon the mutability of all things earthly 
until coming in full view of our old stamping 
ground. 

Then, ascending a low-timbered plateau 
to the left, I stood upon the very ground 
where our first permanent camp was made 
on the morning of December 24th, 1874', 
when the Black Hills was yet a howling 
wilderness. It was a beautiful spot, and as 
I looked around at each familiar landmark, I 
became inspired, in spite of myself, with 
something akin to sentiment. I imagine I felt 
somewhat as did Rob Roy, the Scottish out¬ 
law, on his return to his native haunts, when 
he exclaimed, “My feet are on my native 
heath and my name is McGregor.” 

Although having been divested of much of 


168 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

its crowning beauty—the great pine trees— 
the topography of the ground was well re¬ 
membered, and I found no difficulty in 
locating almost the exact spots where our 
respective tents had been pitched. Yes, here 
is the spot where our gorgeous striped tent, 
a thing of beauty and of pride, went up in 
smoke; and over there is where the pilfering 
little donkey turned his vicious heels upon a 
defenseless woman while heroically endeavor¬ 
ing to rescue from his jaws the “grub” of a 
comrade,—thus defeating her noble purpose. 
That first donkey in the Black Hills, by the 
way, was a true philosopher, there’s no doubt 
about that. His motto was, “All things will 
come to those who watch and wait,”—a 
motto which he lived up to both in theory 
and practice during his connection with the 
expedition. 

Leaving the “old camp ground” I sauntered 
down to the stockade on the left bank of 
French creek, approached the wide-open gate 
and looked in. After hesitating a few 
moments to consider the propriety or impro¬ 
priety of entering the inclosure unbidden, I 
promptly decided that, inasmuch as I held a 
sort of proprietary interest in the property, 


SECOND TRIP INTO THE HILLS 


169 


I would be justified, from a moral, if not 
a legal standpoint, in going boldly in and 
making myself generally at home. So, acting 
on that conclusion, in I went, finding, how¬ 
ever, no one to welcome me back. Two of 
the cabins were found tenanted—as evidenced 
by the padlocked doors—proof positive 
that their occupants were not at home. After 
a hasty inspection of the inner works of the 
fortification, I went the rounds of the vacant 
cabins, all of which, to a more or less extent, 
were fast becoming wrecks, more the result 
of careless tenantry than of time. 

The little cabin with a wing had altogether 
outlived its usefulness, being no longer even 
habitable; its former glory had forever de¬ 
parted. The picturesque chimney—whose 
exact counterpart I challenge any one to find 
in the annals of chimneyarchitecture—built 
originally of sticks, stones, mud, and things 
—had become disintegrated, and was fast 
crumbling into a heap of ruins; the dirt roof 
in many places let in the snow as well as “the 
sunshine and the rain.” The little square 
opening for a window was still there, but the 
flour sack curtain, inscribed with the gaudy 
legend, was gone. There was the small 



170 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

opening between the wing and the main 
edifice, through which our next door neigh¬ 
bor was wont to look with intense eyes of 
dark portent, when he wanted the loan of a 
kettle in which to boil his beans and his 
venison,—and strangely enough some of the 
large stone slabs, so artistically laid for a 
hearth, had not been disturbed. 

I bethought me to look into the little exca¬ 
vation where I had seen my trunk deposited 
on the day of our expulsion from the Black 
Hills, but the trunk was gone, and its place 
occupied by a pair of cast-oif rubber boots 
and other rubbish. Of course, I wasn't look¬ 
ing for old boots. I did not care nor dare 
to linger long in the tumble-down structure, 
lest the whole fabric might collapse, all at 
once, like the deacon's “one-horse shay," so 
turning away with the faintest suggestion 
of a pang, I left the old stockade and made 
my way back to Custer. Heigh-ho!—after 
all there is something sad in turning one's 
back upon old associations, be they never so 
unpleasant. 

The next day—after a stay of two weeks 
in Custer — waiting, Micawber-like, for 
something to “turn up," we followed the 


SECOND TRIP INTO THE HILLS 


171 


great hegira to Deadwood. En route we 
passed through a veritable “deserted village,” 
of about twenty-five or thirty log cabins—the 
whilom booming mining camp at Hill City 
on Spring creek. Not a human being was 
visible, and no smoke curled up from the 
rude chimneys, nor other sign to indicate 
human occupancy. There was no sign of 
animal life, save one solitary dog,that rushed 
out from the shadow of a distant cabin and 
barked dismally at our little train as it.passed 
through—possibly his master was not far 
away. On reaching Elizabethtown, on 
Whitewood creek, we came suddenly upon a 
scene of wonderful placer mining activity. 
Numerous miners along the gulch were 
eagerly delving in the earth in search of the 
“pay streak;” some merely prospecting with 
gold-pans; others testing the gravel through 
the medium of the primitive rocker; while a 
few anxious for larger and speedier results 
had already adopted the more profitable met¬ 
hod of sluicing. On glancing up the gulch the 
way appeared to be completely blocked by a 
chaos of sluice-boxes, boulders, dumps of 
gravel, or tailings, etc., but, by dint of care¬ 
ful driving and closely hugging the hill on 


172 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

the right, we finally succeeded in reaching 
Deadwood—then in its swaddling clothes— 
about May 22d, 1876. 

Even at that early date in the history of 
that great mining camp, quite a little village 
had sprung into existence at the point where 
the mineral-impregnated waters of Dead- 
wood and Whitewood creeks come together, 
this collection being composed of nearly two 
score of hastily constructed log cabins inter¬ 
spersed with numerous tents, pitched here 
and there without regard to regularity. 
These cabins, built along the main street of 
the town, were designed for temporary use 
as places of business, where the various 
kinds of traffic peculiar to mining camps 
were already in full operation, notably, 
places where eatables and drinkables— 
chiefly drinkables—were freely vended to 
hungry and thirsty miners, prospectors, 
freighters, and numerous trusting tenderfeet 
who were daily arriving in that promised 
camp. 

Strange as it may seem, the previous ex¬ 
odus of hundreds of disgusted gold-seekers 
had little deterrent effect upon the great 
human tide flowing inward to the new camp. 


SECOND TRIP INTO THE HILLS 


173 


The belief in individual luck is so deeply im¬ 
planted in the heart of every seeker after 
gold that each expects himself to succeed and 
every other fellow to fail. 

A PERSONAL REMINISCENCE 

I have good reason to remember the time 
and circumstances of my first visit to Dead- 
wood, as the following bit of personal 
experience will plainly show,—an experience, 
indeed, which I would not care to have re¬ 
peated : 

Upon our arrival at the embryonic city of 
Dead wood, the first subject for considera¬ 
tion was, of course, a place for temporary 
shelter for ourselves and household belong¬ 
ings. An active search for such a place, as 
might have been expected, resulted in 
failure, as every cabin and tent was full to 
overflowing. What was to be done? The 
aspect of the situation was not pleasant to 
contemplate, involving, as it did, the alter¬ 
native of living within the narrow limits of 
a canvas-covered wagon or out in the open, 
exposed to the elements and the curious gaze 
of the motely crowds, without even the 
shelter of a tent, our tent having been cre¬ 
mated on French creek as before stated. 


174 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

» 

Happily, in this emergency our attention was 
attracted to a partly finished cabin, whose 
roof was covered with boards having wide 
interstices between, and about eight or ten 
square feet of which was overlaid with 
shakes (a substitute for shingles) with no 
floor save terra firma. This skeleton struc¬ 
ture was located on the south side of the 
main and only thoroughfare of the new 
town, in close juxtaposition to—as a matter 
of fact it was an addition to—a place where 
various kinds of stimulating beverages were 
daily and nightly exchanged for an equiva¬ 
lent in gold dust. A very quiet and orderly 
place of its kind, too, it turned out to be, and 
the headquarters of Capt. Jack Crawford, 
the famous scout, whose occasional presence 
about the establishment threw around it, in 
my mind, an atmosphere of respectability. 

A little below on the opposite side of the 
narrow street was another resort, engaged in 
the same kind of daily and nightly traffic, 
with the very suggestive name of “The 
Nugget” printed in the most alluring colors 
above the door. Nothwithstanding the limi¬ 
tations and local environments of this 
unfinished cabin, which, by the kindness and 


SECOND TRIP INTO THE HILLS 175 


courtesy of its proprietor, was placed at our 
disposal for a week, free of rent, as it 
appeared to be the only alternative, our 
effects were at once transferred to the small 
area beneath the shingled portion of the roof, 
and this is what happened. The morning of 
the second day found me, with the exception 
of a small boy of ten years, the sole occupant 
of this exposed habitation, the result of a 
stampede to locate a town-site in the valley 
of the' Spearfish. Yet if the elements had 
not gone on a rampage, all might have been 
well, but during the day there came up a 
furious thunder-storm, such a one as used to 
send me flying to cover in a dark closet or 
under a smothering feather bed, when a 
child. _ 

The day had been exceedingly warm and 
sultry, presaging the storm which later came 
in all its fury. Early in the afternoon the 
dark, threatening clouds began to gather in 
the west, spreading until the whole visible 
sky was overcast; soon the chain-lightning 
began to play fantastic freaks among the 
black clouds hovering over the mountain 
crests to the north and west; then in a few 
minutes, while I was anxiously watching the 


176 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

grand electrical display, hoping against hope 
that the threatened storm might blow over, 
there came a sudden blinding flash, followed 
instantly by a terrific thunderbolt, that shook 
the earth and burst open the flood-gates 
overhead, letting the rain come down in vast 
torrents. Flash after flash, peal after peal 
from heaven’s artillery followed in rapid 
succession; the wind rose, blowing in great 
slanting shafts of water through the various 
openings, until bed, clothing, in fact every¬ 
thing in the inclosure, was drenched. For 
once, at least, I was not figuratively but 
literally in the swim. In about an hour the 
storm came to an end—as all things will— 
and settled down into a drizzling rain which 
continued far into the night. Often, and 
anxiously, during that dreadful afternoon I 
looked heavenward for a blue rift in the 
leaden sky, but in vain. Night came on 
apace, and such a night! Chilled and wet we 
crept into our damp bed, where, after hours 
of wakefulness, praying meanwhile, that the 
clouds might disappear with the night, I 
finally slept the profound sleep of the just. 
As if in answer to the secret petition, the 
following morning dawned bright and clear; 


SECOND TRIP INTO THE HILLS 177 


the sun beamed down with such cheerful 
radiance that the misery of the night before 
was almost forgotten. 

Soon after the rising of the sun I slipped 
out of my wet pack, and by a good deal of 
active skirmishing around the premises for 
something combustible I soon had a rousing 
fire, before which quilts, blankets, wearing 
apparel, etc., were hung up to dry, and from 
which clouds of steam floated upward to be 
condensed for the next downfall. While 
seated on a dry goods box, enveloped in the 
ample folds of a bed quilt, watching the in¬ 
teresting process of evaporation, and medi¬ 
tating on the gravity of the situation, I was 
startled from my reverie by a loud knock at 
the door. What was to be done ? I was truly 
in an unpleasant dilemma. Of course, I 
could not receive visitors wrapped in a bed 
quilt, and without the quilt I couldn’t—well 
you all know how one feels when inade¬ 
quately attired. By a sort of dumb alphabet, 
I enjoined profound silence on the part of 
the small boy—thereatening dire punishment 
in case it was broken. Another series of 
raps—louder than before. In sheer despera¬ 
tion, I called out in a high falsetto key, “Yes, 


178 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

in a minute!” Throwing aside my wrap, I 
hastily and nervously donned a half-dried 
garment, which took about five minutes in¬ 
stead of one, and called out again, “Come 
in!” Promptly obeying my mandate they 
came in, when through the ascending steam 
I recognized Capt. C. V. Gardner and H. N. 
Gilbert—the latter our traveling companion 
on the trip into the Hills. How glad I was to 
see familiar and friendly faces! So over¬ 
joyed indeed was I that I came dangerously 
near committing the grave indiscretion of 
falling upon their necks and embracing them 
then and there. However, resolutely repres¬ 
sing that inclination, I greeted them with 
tears of joy in my eyes and I fear with rather 
a sickly smile on my lips. After a hasty 
survey of the damp premises, and with a 
look of commiseration in his eyes, Capt. 
Gardner inquired: “What’s the matter 
here? What does all this mean?” “Oh, it 
means that we were treated to a generous 
shower bath yesterday, free of charge; that, 
and nothing more,” I answered. 

“Well, well,” said he, “this is a d— down¬ 
right shame.” Yes, d— stands for down¬ 
right. “Of course it is,” I assented, “its dis- 


SECOND TRIP INTO THE HILLS 


179 


graceful, its dreadful, its worse than a battle 
with the Sioux Indians.” I said I thought it 
merited the whole category of d—s. 

“This will never do,” said the Captain, 
“You must get out of this place as soon as 
possible.” Well, in less than the stipulated 
time, we vacated the place and moved into a 
small log cabin at the base of the hill on 
Williams street, where we remained during 
the summer of 1876. 

Although our temporary abode on Main 
street furnished but small physical comfort, 
it had its advantage in that it afforded an 
excellent point of vantage, from which to see 
Deadwood in all its early picturesqueness. 
To be sure, the great rush was not yet at its 
flood, yet there was already enough excite¬ 
ment to make things exceedingly lively in 
the big mining camp, and the rush and push 
of hustling up buildings on every side; the 
numerous emigrant wagons, and pack ani¬ 
mals loaded with blankets, mining tools, etc., 
that crowded the narrow thoroughfare; and 
the hundreds of eager jostling fortune- 
hunters, rushing up and down the street, and 
in and out between the wagons, contributed 
no end of amusing diversion, in all of which, 


180 FIRST WHITE WOMAN—BLACK HILLS 

however, there was a world of pathos,—in 
view of the almost certainty, that at least 
nine-tenths of the expectant throng were 
doomed to crushing disappointment. 

Incidentally, too, Main street was the 
theatre of an occasional farce-comedy which 
added spice and variety to the scene, to one 
of which I was an unvoluntary, though in¬ 
teresting witness. One day while at my point 
of observation, I saw a coatless, hatless, un¬ 
kempt, red-headed man—with only one 
suspender—well, I sized him up as a “whak- 
er,”—rush headlong out of the “Nugget” 
across the way, closely followed by a man of 
sanguinary aspect, holding a six-shooter in 
his right hand, and hurling all sorts of bill¬ 
ingsgate after the fleeing offender. The red¬ 
headed man dodged behind a wagon that 
providentially stood near by; thus escaping 
immediate danger. The pursued and the 
pursuer played a game of hide-and-go-seek 
around the wagon for several minutes, when 
some bystanders interfered and put an end 
to the exhibition. This is only one of many 
similar exhibitions witnessed in 1876, but 
one is plenty. 

In casting about here and there up and 


SECOND TRIP INTO THE HILLS 


181 


down the narrow auriferous gulches from 
Gayville to Elizabethtown and below, it was 
found that every square yard of paygravel, 
from rim to rim, along the entire length of 
the gulch, was already claimed and staked 
off by the wide-awake miners, who metaphor¬ 
ically took time by the forelock, and hastened 
to the new discovery at the first report, thus 
securing claims from which many reaped 
fortunes—while the unlucky ones who 
dawdled away two weeks of precious time for 
something to “turn up” lost a golden oppor¬ 
tunity. 

“Of all sad words of tongue or pen 

The saddest are these, It might have been.” 














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